


Time on Our Side

by Twilit



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:11:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 63,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twilit/pseuds/Twilit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the game, after all's said and done, after your dead are buried and you're still marching on... what's next? </p><p>A story of PTSD, lies, love and how you actually get a move on with living. </p><p>(years in the future. many, many years)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Firsts

**Author's Note:**

> This... will take some time to tell. The story may change. But the characters won't. The concept won't.
> 
> Stop for a moment. Kill the music. Turn off the lights. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath in. Feel and listen to your heart. Is there anyone out there whose heart beats to the same time as yours? Whose pulse of life can cut through the haze of yours? Who can take the ugly chaos of your life and turn it into some semblance of beautiful order? Exhale.
> 
> Tic.
> 
> Inhale.
> 
> Toc.
> 
> Probably not. Not all chaos is ugly and not all order is beautiful. But is there someone who can hear the beating of your heart? And take its rhythm as their own? Accept your rhythm and make you want to do the same for them?
> 
> Exhale. Open your eyes. LISTEN.

The first time you met Aradia Megido you barely paid attention to her. You only had eyes for the bag of knives in red and teal and for good fucking reason, really. You could see her tongue slowly roll out of the gaping maw of shattered glass and razors Picasso would have referred to as a mouth and lick in your general direction. Ah yeah, there was your girl. You couldn't keep your eyes (ok, and tongue) off each other.

When you finally became aware of the floating fairy troll, you noticed she was dressed pretty freaking similarly and almost felt redundant. Then she went on to describe your roles in the upcoming battle and the feeling quickly dissipated. You felt pretty silly. The scratch happened, a new game occurred and the Big Bad was beaten. Joy, hurrah, new world and everything! You argued with Terezi shortly thereafter, beginning a long line of bad relationships and worse break-ups.

It's safe to say you were hung up on your first.

\--

The first time you met Dave Strider, he rose dripping with power from the Green Sun. It was an awesome sight, but you didn't really care. You had already achieved god tier yourself, no big deal. You were more excited that you were finally going to have a chance to talk to someone who had as intimate an understanding of death as you did! Dave Strider was probably the only person in Sburb/Sgrub to have died as many times as you.

Turned out that the Knight of Time didn't particularly want to talk about his experiences with death. His sister, on the other hand, was a veritable treasure trove of grim information and dark narratives. You became quite close over the course of the games and she was the driving force behind getting all of you trolls organized on the new Earth. Without her, you would never have gotten into college and gone on to become an archaeologist.

It's safe to say you preferred the sister to the brother.

 

\--

 

Both of you should have bloody well known better.


	2. Many years later (a great many)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this is how it really starts.

You shove open the rusted door of the convenience store and walk into the wall of Texan air. Smog and heat choke you for a moment as you step outside, and then you adjust. Pushing your shades back onto your nose, you set off into the crowd, ready to bob and weave like a boss. Thankfully it's a little after midday so the crowds aren't nearly as bad as they could be, most people having stayed inside with the AC cranked up too high. You, of course, don't have AC and can't remember the last time you did. But you get by.

It happens about halfway home. There's a flash of candy-corn colour above people's heads and your head jerks around in recognition. No one else noticed, but then no one else could see them. Aliens, living among them. A grand total of six, so the chances of meeting them were slim but still. And you figure, those chances being so slim you may as well say hello.

You approach the direction you saw the horns in, and presently you spot the distinctive curve of a ram's headpiece. You'd wonder what Aradia was doing all the way down this way, but you figure that can wait until you've met and, you know, _asked_ her.

\--

People jostle you as you peer down and try to figure out the directions on the piece of paper. A map would have been better, but that was lost along with half your luggage on the flight down. You don't mind so much though. You're not a waif of a Maid anymore. You look up to try and spot a street sign when you feel it.

Time slows to a crawl and stops. A business man is in mid stride, talking into an earpiece with his mouth hanging open. A fly hangs in the air inches away, a detail lost to all but you. You and one other. You spin around and spot him, casually sauntering up. A grin splits your face and you dash towards him.

At that moment his control stops and your passing startles the fly right into the businessman's mouth. The smirk on Dave Strider's face tells you all you need to know about his little stunt.

\--

Things you were not expecting to happen: Aradia Megido throwing herself at you in a hug. Aradia Megido being taller than you last saw her and about seven inches taller than you, _period_. Aradia Megido's racks being of equal, ah, substance and one set being _in your face_. Before it can get awkward, you slip lithely out of the hug and take stock of her.

“Sup, Megido.” Oh thank god, you're not totally a midget compared to her. She's got asskicker's on, the boots lending her about three or four inches. Her curling ram's horns add to the illusion of height and filled out by a wild mass of curly black hair. But still. Baggy, ripped cargo pants, a plain red tanktop were comfortably worn and a massive, well-worn dufflebag completed the ensemble. Soaking wet, Dave might have weighed as much as the bag, and Aradia was carrying it like a valise. “Damn, you grew up.”

“Heh, yeah, rust bloods are prone to erratic growths. But oh my god Dave, what are you doing here?”

“Me? Junior, I live here.” The old nickname rolls off your tongue with ease before you can correct yourself. To cover, you continue, “I should be asking you the same thing. Last I heard you were taking some hella whack underwater archaeology courses in Florida.”

“Yeah! But there's a department at Texas A&M and I'm applying for a job with one of their professors. He's got an office here.”

“Coolio. You headed there?” You start walking and she falls into step, towering over you.

“Actually, I'm looking for my hotel. It's supposed to be somewhere around... oh goddamn motherfucking cuntsucking...”

“...so Karkat's doin' good then?”

“What?” She looks at you angrily for a moment. Which then passes like a cloud as a giggle bubbles up. “Oh! Sorry! No, you learn to swear like a sailor around archaeologists. Doubly so ones who are actual sailors.”

“And what was the swearin' for?”

“I've lost the directions. I must have dropped them when I greeted you.”

“Fuckin' jumped me you mean.”

“Heheh, sorry?”

“Don't sweat it. Look, my place is a couple of blocks away, you can look up your hotel there if you want.”

“Really? Thanks, Dave!”

“Thank me after you've seen the place.”

To your surprise, the walk to your place is surprisingly quiet. Aradia's bubbly personality seems to have mellowed out. You're not going to complain.  
\--

After the eighth flight of stairs, you're almost ready to take back your thanks. Then Dave steps into a hallway on the next landing and you breathe a sigh of relief and exhaustion. You're not unfit and your remaining dufflebag is pretty light for you, but eight flights of stairs will take the wind out of just about anyone. Dave's apartment is three doors down from the stairwell and he looks over his shoulder at you as he unlocks the door.

“Sorry in advance about the heat.” He steps through the door, leaving you to follow. If you thought Texas was hot by itself, you walk into a room that is absolutely oppressive. Then Dave flicks a switch and about five fans come on all at once and you feel immediately better. Your suitcase hits the ground like a boulder and you spread your arms to take in the breeze.

“Ohh, that is SO much better.”

“Than outside? The hell is wrong with you?”

“The heat's fine, Alternia was hotter than Earth. But without any circulation, it's just plain sweltering.”

Dave grunts and moves to the kitchen and starts unpacking his groceries, giving you a second to take in his apartment. You were almost expecting a disaster zone. And honestly, it is a mess but at least it's a clean mess and doesn't smell. Other than the mess strewn haphazardly about the place, there's a couch, an entertainment centre without a TV, a desk with a laptop and another desk with a pile of electronics you couldn't identify if you tried. Except for the massive pair of ebon turntables, the Scratch Doctors.

You stay away from those and join Dave in the kitchen.

“Get you something to drink? I've got water, apple juice and more water.”

“Water would be fantastic, thanks.”

He pours you a glass and then wanders into the living room again, where he boots the laptop. Sipping your drinks, you both wait for the log in screen.

“Nice place you've got here?”

His head lolls over in your direction and he stares at you silently. As you look down at his deadpan expression, you're struck by the bright red eyes peering over his shades that seem to say, “Really? REALLY?”

\--

“Oh hey, you've got red eyes too! Cool!” You quickly push up your shades and turn your attention to the screen, ignoring her comment and hoping she gets the point. The log in pops up and you hammer away at your password. The rest of the boot takes seconds and you start up your browser. Spinning away on one heel, you grab the rolly chair and send it across to the troll.

“Do your thang.”

Aradia folds into the chair with an audible creak from it. You'd almost forgotten how different troll physiology was. She takes a notebook out of a pocket and goes looking. You pretend to be disinterested and not watching, slouched against the wall. But in reality, you've focused on her eyes. Deep red, so dark they could be mistaken for brown set as they are in yellow corneas. Huh. The things you learn.

Minutes pass quietly and you haven't budged. So focused are you that when she pushes away from the laptop, you nearly jump. But you're a Strider and keep your cool.

“Ok! Got the place! Could I borrow your phone, just to call ahead and confirm?”

You shift over and bring up your VoIP program on the laptop. “Ain't got a phone, but knock yourself out. Headphones are over there.”

You turn and make your way to your tiny-ass bathroom to leave her to her call. It's not long before you can hear her, voice rising. You splash water on your face to cool off some more and then cautiously crack the door open. She's swearing into the microphone, something about useless bulge-licking intermediaries, You can follow the gist of it and feel mildly sorry for her. When she starts sputtering incoherently, it's time to move on out.

And just in time as Aradia rises angrily and moves to spike your headphones off the floor. You give her your best “Rose Lalonde is my sister and I learned icey glares from the best” look and she stops. They're still in a deathgrip though and you move over and gently pry them from her.

“So everything's good?”

“Ha. Don't need your sarcasm right now Dave. The hotel is overbooked and I don't have a place for the next three nights.”

“Shitsux dude.”

\--

He's as charming and eloquent as ever. Which is to say, not. You have no idea what Terezi ever saw in hi-Ok, bad example.

“Where the hell am I going to find a place on such short notice?”

He shrugs, completely useless. You feel a wave of the old emptiness, of your old darkness wash over you. You throw it off, disgusted with yourself. Ok, get a handle this Aradia. Your interview is tomorrow, that's the part you need to look profession-

“You could always crash here.”

You freeze for a second and just stare at him. And then you can feel your face brighten.

“Really?!”

“Yeah sure. Three nights? No prob. You get the bed, I get the couch. No worries.”

“Oh, Dave, thank you!” You go for another hug but see him ready to dodge again. You settle for beaming at him. “You're sure?”

“Yup. I work nights, so as long as you don't mind me coming back late, mi casa es su casa.”

“Gracias!” And Dave Strider smirked. It was sardonic and you could tell he was laughing at you, but you didn't care. He'd proven to be an all right guy for now.

“Hey, we ex-divines gotta stick together. Not like we got all the time in the world anymore.”

\--

It's almost four in the morning when you drag yourself back to your place. In your head, there's a vague pounding left by the drinks people bought you, so you stumble over to the fridge for a glass of water. After saying screw the glass and downing, like, a gallon of the stuff you put it back and notice a pot in the fridge. With a note on it.

Where the hell did she get a sticky note from?

“Hey Dave, hope spinning at the club went well! Thanks for letting me stay, and enjoy the food!”

It's a pot of shitty mac'n'cheese with some veg in it. But you're not gonna complain and lay into it.

\--

The next morning you tip-toe past a shirtless Dave Strider sprawled halfway off the couch and have to suppress a giggle. You momentarily consider covering him up, but considering the temperatures around here, that's probably unnecessary.

\--

You vaguely remember hearing the door click shut and starting alert with a sword in your hand. Aradia looks at you terrified and frozen at the door and for a second guilt suffuses you and overrides the cold sweat your body's broken in to.

“Sohreeezzzz” and then you're back asleep.

\--

You've picked up quite a bit living among humans and you're pretty sure no one is supposed to look that terrified waking up, even if you've startled them. The behaviour is more like a troll's daymares than anything. You stay by his side for a while, watching him twitch in his sleep and wondering of what he dreams.

\--

Your dreams are filled with lava, gears and blood.


	3. Approach and Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quiet life of semidemigods.

You don't speak about your little daytime outburst, thankfully. The troll has enough grace to not bring it up, and you silently thank her. You'd hoped that keeping your mind off the Game would offset the nightmares, but apparently Aradia's presence is enough to kick them back to life. Ah well, too late to do anything about them now and it's only another two more days. You're a big boy. You keep telling yourself.

When she's back from her interview she's wired and nervous, but pretty confident. You hand her a beer, tell her to simmer down and ask how it went.

“Well I could answer all his questions, no problem, and he liked my field experience so I think I did the best I could. At this point, the question is if there's anyone more qualified than me.”

“Is there?”

“Well... it's a pretty small field... but yeah.” She gives a rueful smile and scratches at a massive horn. “I've an MA and but not my professional licence. He could do better, but he could do a lot worse!”

“Where's this thing anyways? The Gulf?”

She laughs, black hair falling back over her shoulders. “That's the thing. I have no idea. It described the conditions we'd be working in. So I can tell you tropics, fine sands and stable weather patterns but not actually where we'd be working. Crazy huh?”

“Nah. Crazy's flyin' through space on a psychically powered asteroid.” Fuck, now why'd you go and bring that up? The point's to stay away from the past, you fucking moron. “You'll be fine. Assumin' you get the job.”

“Yeah, and there are other options if I don't get this one.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Florida, Nova Scotia, government and private business...”

“Who the fuck in their right minds would want to dive in Nova Scotia.”

A giggle. “I know right? But work is work and I'd rather stay in academia. Actually save up the knowledge than exploit it, you know?”

You nod, even if you don't. “Good to have a goal.”

\--

“What about you, Dave? What's your goal?”

He snorts, a sharp and ugly sound. “Already achieved it. Get signed to a label.” He waves a hand at a shelf sparsely stocked with CDs. “Yeah, that worked out.”

You hop off the desk you were perched on and examine the CDs. “DJ Knightstyles? You're a published artist! Coool.”

“Yeah, 'cept it only counts if you're popular. And I ain't. Well, except in Lichtenstein apparently but who the fuck even knows where that is.”

You let slip another laugh at the aside. He's good at self deprecation, at the least. “Aww... but the club must like you!”

“Yeah, for sets of other people's stuff. Apparently I'm only good with second hand material. Whatevs, it's ok and pays the bills.”

He drains his bottle and tosses it into the recycling with a clatter. Dave Strider has a master poker face, but you get the impression that his mood has darkened. You sense you've hit a soft spot. “Well, maybe one day I'll check out your club!”

His head turns to regard you from behind those ever-present shades. “You.”

“Yes, me!” You stick your tongue out at him. “What, you don't think I can dance?”

“I just didn't expect you to be the clubbing type.”

“Oh? And what type DID you expect then, Mr. Strider?”

\--

The mocking tone and “Mr. Strider” reminds you strongly of Jade and her antics. Goddamn, is every fucking second going to be a nostalgia trip now?

“I dunno, like, classical or some shit.”

It's her turn to give you a disbelieving look. She looks down at her untucked and now-rumpled blouse and the cargo pants she changed back into. “Ok, yeah, so I suck at discernin' other people's taste in music, sue me.”

Instead, she laughs. And you have to admit, despite the flashbacks you're going to have tonight, you don't care too much about them. It's a nice laugh and goddamn if this place don't need it.

\--

You crash pretty early, mostly because you're an emotional wreck. Dave took the edge off your nerves, but now that he's gone it's just you and the nagging worry. You've never been very good at dealing with rejections, but at least this one will come quickly. The professor promised an answer before the weekend. You clutch one of Dave's pillows to yourself and try to make yourself comfortable.

It's a spartan bedroom, by any standard, and the bed is a tiny single, made for someone Dave's size and not a troll with a full extension of horns. But it's comfortable. And nothing will be as bad as the cots on your first field dig, while you were going through a growth spurt. It was bad enough that you couldn't fit properly on them by the end of the second week, but they were not designed for troll horns, so your head kept being weighted down at awkward angles. And of course the humans couldn't see them for whatever magical universe-breaking reason, so you couldn't really try to get a rest table or something for them. In the end, you just took to your sleeping bag.

Dave had put on fresh sheets and these still smelled like laundry. You're glad that your dreams don't involve cold sweats like Dave's because you don't want to mess up his stuff and have it cling to you all night long. No, your dreams are far, far emptier. Really, it's no wonder you're an early riser. Sleep is just there to get you through to another day. You'd much rather be out living than stuck in your head.

At some point you surrender to oblivion. Your dreams are, as ever, blank and when you wake it is with a sense of relief. Your roll towards the window. Dawn has just broken and its soft light colours the city below you in a palette of red and orange. Long shadows race back in retreat from its light and the whole city seems to glow with the coming warmth. You remember Dave's planet and smile slightly.

You slip your pants on to creep out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. You bought bags of mixed fruit that you intend to leave Dave as a thank you, so he can get some decent nutrition. But right now you're hungry, so you go ahead an plunder a plum. Dave doesn't appear to be in the throes of any daymares at the moment and you get the feeling that his silence on the matter is all he wants said about them. You're determined not to be a silly human creeper and so quietly stalk back to the bedroom, sneaking the laptop back with you. He's left it unlocked so you can check your mail for word about the job, another surprisingly trusting act from someone you'd always taken to be extremely reserved and private. You're quite happy to be wrong in this case!

\--

On the third day you're woken by a high pitched shriek and you're bolt upright and on guard before your thoughts can even catch up. There's a hurried rush from the bedroom, completely different from the soft and measured padding you'd come to associate with Aradia. Then she's filling the doorway, laptop clutched to her chest and fairly well vibrating with happiness.

“I got it! I got it! I'm going to Jordan next week!”

You blearily rub your eyes with your sword hand, uncaring that you've got said implement still in it. “..gratz?”

“Thank youuu! Oh my god, I've got to pack, no wait everything's packed, I've got to prepare, I hope my luggage arrived at the hotel yet, can I book something somewhere? Oh man, oh man, yesss!”

Your name is Dave Strider and you're going to need a really fucking big cup of coffee to put up with this bullshit. 

\--

Your name is Aradia Megido and you are nearly giddy with joy. Dave helps you gather your other luggage from the hotel. His lithe frame looks fairly ridiculous lugging the duffel bag, but it's more awkward than heavy. You casually sling yours over your shoulder by the strap and try not to laugh at the deadpan look he gives you. How can one man say so much with so little expression? It's like - I am not at all threatened by your obviously greater strength bound in a feminine frame but goddamn woman are you trying to make me look bad on my own turf? Would Dave say turf? You don't know.

He helps you as far as the Greyhound to the campus, where you part. They're putting you up in a dorm for the short-term and the coolkid has no desire to step foot on to campus whatsoever. You blow the time waiting for the bus with idle chatter, avoiding anything about the past, his dreams. He's a font of wisecracks which you're more than happy to giggle to. It's like he's trying to get most smiles out of you while you're around and that makes you sort of sad. You wonder if he has any friends here. You wonder why none of the others ever mention much about him. A million worrisome questions well up and you're almost overcome with the urge to ask, but you're too polite and don't want to ruin your good-bye. 

The bus arrives and surprisingly Dave doesn't dodge your hug this time, giving you a quick pat on your back to boot. Once you're on the bus, he waves once and then turns and gets lost in the crowd. Your thoughts quickly turn to your massive upcoming trip and you nearly bounce for joy in your seat. 

It's not until much later that you find the CD he left in your bag – sup megido. hold me to that club thing when you're back

\--

It's ten months before you see her again.


	4. tick tock break heads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dem beats man, dem beats.
> 
> The part where my muse beats me upside the head with the correct character voices.

It's ten months before you see her again and you spend every week up until then finding strands of long, black curls all over your apartment. How the fuck do they even get into the electrical sockets? In that time you hook and break up with a chick who went shithive maggots on you for finding... black curls in your sheets. Two months after Aradia had left. You're actually kind of thankful, since it probably spared you months of delusion about the relationship. No amount of smooth talk or honest explanation had pacified her so eventually you just put on your headphones and ignored her. Problem solved itself with a slam.

You have great coping mechanisms.

Bills mount and you're too cool to live on the streets so you pick up another part time job as a courier. You're fantastic at it, once you learn how to ride a bike. Oh shit that car's gonna hit you? Nope. Plenty of time to speed up all of a sudden. You hate yourself for it though, it seems like a goddamn waste of your, ah, facility with time. But hell if it don't bring in the bank. Some days you catch yourself enjoying the wind as you zip through the Texas heat. You're just back from a blistering ride when your e-mail dings on your laptop. Taking a long pull at your lukewarm water bottle, you slide into a slouch in the chair and check it. There's red text with too many zeroes and exclamation marks asking if a towering, overly positive troll broad with space issues can stay at your place while she finds a place in College Station. You fire back.

fuck no  
why the hell would you want a place in college station  
dont care if youre gonna be working there its a hole man  
crash here if you want but save yourself some grief

You lay down some extra ground rules though, considering you're gonna be working more now. None of them have to do with strands of black hair.

\--

When next you see Dave Strider, he's got an honest-to-goodness tan. Delicate, pale skin has been replaced by a light brown shade. He approaches wordlessly, no stunts this time, and with a bounce of a half-step he stoops and swings back up with a bag. In the breeze of his turn, the shirt flutters and between the loose white button-up and beater you can tell the tan goes straight to his collarbones. Day time work flatters him and you tell him as much. You get a quirked eyebrow for your trouble.

“Yeah, I know. My choice ass, delicacy in foreign nations, is now low-cal for consumption amongst Amurcah's elite.”

You really try not to giggle. You're pretty bad at that endeavour and you've got to stop sounding like a schoolgirl around him. Falling into step beside him, you begin the half-familiar walk to his place.

“So how was the dig?”

“Oh man, it was excellent. Just like I expected too!” you gush. “We got to do barge excavations in the River Jordan and catalogue under armed guard and we got threatened by terrorists!”

He stops dead in the street. “Wat.” 

The sound is flat and strangely nasal and you have the decency to look abashed and take the lead. “Yeah, uh, that happened.”

He falls in step beside you. “Really. Huh. Comes with the territory, I guess.”

“I'm ok, thanks for asking!”

You get a sideways glance for your trouble. “Hey you can take care of yourself, I got no doubts about that.”

“Heh. Maybe. But I'm done with all that. Violence and death and all. I took the first chance to get out.”

He grunts, possibly in approval. You can't really tell. Macho male dialects were not among the languages you studied. “Gonna affect your job security?” 

“Nope! In fact they want someone here to take on the artifacts when they arrive, so I'll be ready for that.”

“Swag.”

The rest of the walk passes in companionable silence. You don't mind. With his CD being most of the music you had on the trip, you feel like you've gotten to know him somehow. But you could be crazy, the CD having often been the only thing between you and the empty some nights. After the first few weeks, you had a tent to yourself as others made their sleeping quarters away from you. You could never get a straight answer why, but sometimes your colleagues would wake, screaming in tongues no one could understand. You're glad you never got a listen. You're pretty sure you knew what they'd be.

At the building, the bike rack inspires you to ask, “Hey which one's yours?”

“The absolute shittiest one there.”

You spy one black bike, rusted red like your blood before following him in.

\--

She settles in easily enough. All it really consists of is tossing the massive duffel bags in a corner and fighting over the shower. You win on account of “Human sweat smells, troll sweat just eats through fine fabrics” which somehow gets through her feminine sensibilities. End result, you get your soak on and,

“Why the fuck are you waiting right by my door?”

Aradia goes dark red in the face as you're not sporting a whole lot more than a towel. In fact, you're in the process of putting on your shades as you spot the embarrassed troll. 

“Look, I know I'm a fine piece of-”

“tail! Yes! Sorry! I know! Leaving now!” and she's out of your room in a jiff. You shake your head and shut the door. A towel down and change later you stick your head out your door. “It safe for me to exit into my own living room or...”

A face full of pillow is your answer. As it slowly slides down your face, you adjust your glasses and step out. You bow ironically and gesture for her to enter. Aradia does not look impressed. Oh fucking well. She brushes past you and you get a face full of curls for your trouble.

You kill time by reviewing your set for the evening. You barely have the energy these days, so you drink less and plan more. Your sets are expertly timed, which makes it all the more irritating when the club owners go past closing to drain more money out of their customers. Goddammit, you just want to clock out and crash. Thankfully these days where you're working both jobs are rare. Before long you hear the shower turn off and you briefly consider not putting pants on, just to spite her. You think better of it.

Both of you refreshed, you pack your shit for the club. A basic kit, an external hard drive and your good headphones. You'd wear them normally, except that'd be more rude than you're going for with Aradia. As you step into the falling dusk, you have to wonder why you care.

\--

The towers of the city cast umber shadows that remind you of the last time you were down here. Fond memories those, almost as good as the trip. Strange how three days can be as good as ten months. Texan days are long and the sun sets in its own time. The world turns vibrant shades of red and orange and the skyscrapers reflect that light into a sparkling inferno before everything slowly dims to a smog-laden purple.

Dave stops by a tiny hole-in-the-wall Chinese place and orders an obscene sum of food without consulting you. Before you can protest, he asks you what you're ordering. 

“...have you gotten a tapeworm since we last spoke or what?”

“Nah, leftovers are for later in the club. I'm on all night, gotta get my noms from somewhere. So. What're you havin'?”

Your own portion is sizable enough when it arrives and the server looks at the two of you somewhat askance. You suppose you do make a fairly strange couple, eating enough food for six. Between bites you wonder how you are to get home if Dave's going to be late. In response there's a jingle-jangle from across the table and keys arch over it. Your chopsticks clatter as you drop them in your haste to catch the whirling jumble of metal before it impacts into your Moo Goo Gai Pan. He is utterly stoic under your death glare.

\--

Note to self: do not fuck with this woman's food because goddamn

\--

The club looks mostly deserted when you arrive, still ridiculously full. You get in with a nod from Dave , saying you're with him and then you're left to your own devices. Your experiences with clubs can be counted on the fingers of one hand and all within the space of one year at university when your classmates insisted you loosen up. It wasn't your thing but you were grateful for and took their advice. Now you're in Dave Strider's club and it strikes you - what are you here for?

Nothing in life was ever made worse by beer and it's not like Dave's available while he sets up, so you wander over to the bar to ponder with a bottle. The one bartender on right now is about as grizzled and gruff as you can imagine, a huge black man bigger than you are and twice as broad. 

“You Strider's girl?”

He gets a laugh for his presumption, “Yeah, right. Just a friend.”

“Huh. Dinnit know he had any. But den he never did bring any women with him ever.”

“No friends? Not here at the club?”

“Nah. Keeps to hisself. Bossman hired him on account of his bro, but he done right by us since.” he nods in the direction of the DJ booth. “Knows da booth as good as Jimmy, sound guy.”

“Huh. On account Bro, hmm?”

“You knew 'im?”

“No, what makes you say that?”

“You said Bro. Not bro. Only Strider say dat, figured you knew him since...” he shrugs.

“Well. I've only ever heard Dave talk about him. And then only a little. More from John and Rose, really.” You take a swig of beer. Jesus Christ it's bad. Years of drinking with archaeologists had given you taste. The horror. “He never mentioned them? Or anyone who played the game?”

“Nah, like I say, he keeps to hisself.” The big man leans over the bar, arms folded and a glint in his eye. “Game?”

“Yeah, this... online thing we used to play.”

“Huh. Never took Strider for a nerd.”

“I don't think he's played in over a decade.” You say quickly, worried on multiple levels. “I don't think he likes talking about it.”

“Haha! Yeah, he's gettin' riled about dis den.”

Your hand snatches out and grabs his forearm. His eyes widen at the pressure and you remember too late to hold back on your natural strength. You let go and fix him in the eyes. “Please. Don't.”

The big man rubs his arm where you grabbed him and mutters something. “Yeah, ok, sure. Goddamn woman, you army?”

“Nope. Archaeologist.”

“Fo' reals? Like Indiana Jones?”

You have to grin. You will never get tired of that comparison. Ohhh, Indy. “Something like that. Less shooting, more manual labour.”

He nods appraisingly. “Aight. You coo'. I ain't gonna say shit to Strider. 'til he pisses me off.”

You wince. Dave did have a certain skill set for that. You drop a bill on the counter and the bartender takes it without a word as you wander back to the coolkid. He's lost in his work, double checking all his connections, testing sound levels, displaying an obsessive attention to detail. His focus is hypnotizing. When he deigns to speak to you, it takes you by surprise.

“I'd ask what Rusty had to say, but I'm sure he dropped some sick-ass slander about my mad skills. Straight up courtroom-blistering nonsense. As if his ears could tell the difference between funk and trip-hop, assuming he got Bossman's dick out of them.”

“Actually, he said you'd done alright by the club.”

Dave's hands hesitate for a moment, skipping over some cabling and then coming back to pick it up. He stands and turns his back. “Huh.”

If you hadn't known better, you'd say he was trying to hide his expression. 

\--

The beat's steady and the world makes blessed sense. There's you, a playlist and turntables you haven't touched yet. Too early in the evening, the place is still filling up. Yeah, you're a bit of a narcissist and want an audience, but anyone who has anything against that can remove the cold, hard rod from up their overly righteous posteriors. 

So right now you fiddle with playlists and take requests, slotting them in where you figure they'll sound alright. You've no hope of them sounding good, mind you, but that's just this crowd. Yo dawg, got the latest Nelly? Big Sean? Hells yes, brother, I will spin that shit for you. Annnnnnd throw up in my mouth a little. No seriously, there's a reason you have this shit on an external. Right now your world is a glowing screen surrounded by a starbursts of dance floor colour you barely register. Hell, even if their taste sucks, it's at least a challenge to fit the terribad choices together.

And then your booth is once more accosted, this time by some flightly broad in a black shirt and,

“Sup, Aradia.”

“Dave, I'm bored. This music sucks and I'm out of cash.”

“Well, tell Rusty when people buy me drinks for requests to give them to you.”

“Really?”

“Lady, I've been running around this city all day like the cyclist version of the Postman and Kevin Costner never looked this good. That is some tiring shit and beer is just gonna make me sleepy. Hit my shit up and hang tight. It gets good soon.”

As proof you deftly slide a record out from the pile and flip it from the fingers of one hand to the other, slotting it into the turntables. Looks like your show is gonna start a bit early. And fuck the bossman, the taste of these tools is worse than usual. Strider's School of Sick Nasty Jams has a class of students in desperate need of edumacation.

\--

You leave Dave's booth with an uncertain smile and head back to Rusty. You pass on Dave's message and he grunts and mutters something unintelligible about Strider and cash. He does serve you up another beer though. Oh good, maybe after another six you might feel something. You slam it back and turn to watch the floor. A cold jolt at your elbow informs you that there's another waiting for you and you down it without a second thought. When the third hits the bartop, you quirk an eyebrow at Rusty.

“How many drinks has he been bought tonight?!” you yell over the cacophony of the club.

“Eight so far!” Jesus. No wonder the 140 pound coolkid was a heavyweight. You turn to watch the dance floor, but there's another tap at your elbow and Rusty points at the booth. Then there is an abrupt screech of music and the entire atmosphere of the club changes. Dave has obviously started his set, even though you can't see him in the booth. Formerly lit by the screen of the laptop, he's moved to his turntables, overseeing a subtle shift on the dance floor. Drunken club goers move to the edges and make space. A low bass line thrums out into the club, Dave drops the beats and a smile breaks across your face like dawn on a foggy morning.

While you were in Jordan you didn't have much to tie you back to any sort of home. Not that you'd really had one since entering Sgrub, but Dave's music gave you a tie to your friends. It wasn't to your usual taste, but that didn't stop you from enjoying. He sublimated melody to rhythm and beat. You would say you have no idea how it didn't take off, but when you look and listen to the club's usual fare and clientele, you can't really tell that lie. In person he could take a dozen words to say one thing, but Dave Strider's music spoke volumes. And right now it was telling dozens of people, including yourself, to get their asses on the dance floor.

\--

This is the best part of your night. Spinning a disc and instantly changing the tone of an entire building. Quality goes from generic to fantastic. You'd prefer a better light show to go along with the music, but you've got to make do with what the Bossman provides. It's not like you know jack shit about it anyways. What passes for your adoring fans crush to the dance floor and you figure maybe this isn't the worst existence. Dropping sick beats, with eye candy everywhere? Hells to the yeah, hook a brother up.

You spin, scratch and mix your favourites, crowd favourites and random shit you make up on the spot. The night progresses and you've fallen into the rhythm of the tables. Your mind is else where right up until candy-corn horns catch your eye and your breath catches in your throat. 

Her hair whips around her like a hurricane of ash and obsidian and the light plays off the sheen of it so Aradia's her own goddamn fourth of July sparkler. Hands fold impossibly delicate patterns in the air, then around her hips, and it's like she's dancing with your music. Not to, you're cognizant of thinking, with. you switch up his rhythm subtly and her hips are already swaying in proper time. Goddamn, she's wearing the baggiest cargo pants in the club and the way her hips move is the sexiest thing in the whole building. Hell, go directly to entrancing, do not pass sexy, do not collect your jaw from the floor. It's not like you're DJing and she's dancing, it's like the two of you are communicating, without words and across the dance floor. You have no goddamn idea what you're talking about and you're pretty sure if you told Rose about this she'd have enough material to add another volume to the libraries of psychologists but you give no shits. None of them.

You fall into this conversation and there's not a single goddamn break until the bouncers start to motion dancers to get the hell out, don't you people have homes to go to. It never occurs to you that your eyes are locked on this woman's body the whole night and not a single sexual thought has skipped across the spinning disc of your mind. The night passes and you learn things about each other. It's nothing you could really describe but you get the sense that she's been lonely for so long, she doesn't feel it anymore. There's a distance to her you never noticed but now understand. You've got to wonder what she heard. 

\--

It's nearly three thirty in the morning when you escape the club, dragging Dave behind you. Laughter escapes freely from your lips and Dave has a mocking, indulgent smirk on his lips. You gush over his music and the beat and the way he changed the whole atmosphere of the club. He shrugs it off, as if nah, shit was pretty lame. Like, take the dog out back Meryl, it's too far gone. You refuse to let him denigrate his work. 

Your argument is pretty one-sided and Dave takes it tolerantly. Less than halfway to his house he tenses for a heartbeat and relaxes, far looser than he normally carries himself. Instead of a studied slouch, he now looks perfectly at ease and for some reason that causes you to look around nervously. And sure enough, your keen nightvision picks out a group of six emerge from an alleyway in front of you. You grab Dave and whisper,

“Don't you do anything stupid Dave Strider.”

“Not gonna happen. Just gonna hear these gentlemen out, listen to their offer, which I'm sure is completely above-board and legit. Ain't that right?” He raises his voice as the group approaches and they hesitate.

“Sure lil' man, sure. Totally legit. See, these roads ain't safe as I'm sure you know. Now, honest business people like myself and my friends here would like to keep it that way, but we require a, lessee, compensatory amount for our services, y'see.”

“See, 'Radia? Honest businessfolk who just want our wallets to keep us safe.” Dave's already sliding his wallet out and one of them starts forward, half-drawing something before their leader halts him with a raised hand.

“Easy now! Just pull it out carefully, make sure we can see it.” Dave obeys with an easy smile and tosses his wallet on the pavement.

“Hey no worries, dude. I'm done with death and violence.” He cocks his head at you, and his smirk seems dangerously ironic. You toss your own wallet down too.

“Hey, he's the DJ at the club! Bet he's got his shit in the bag, that shit'll make mad cash.”

“That right, dog? C'mon, the bag too. Let's see it.”

Dave slowly shrugs out of the bag and the hair at the nape of your neck rises. The movement is like a snake uncoiling. That's when you realize things were going to go badly. Your stomach suddenly feels cold and empty, but you reach deep in any case, touching that last vestige of deific power.

“Not happening. Take the money and go.”

“Aw man, really? This was goin' so smooth. I thought you respected our business arrangement?”

“Yup. I did. Wish you'd respected my music.”

“Well fuck you too fool,” And the leader waves the gang forward. They're obviously at least somewhat experienced and leap you in tandem. It's a coordinated movement, like a pack of wolves taking down lame prey. You spot a half familiar eager gleam in their eyes, something that would not have gone amiss on Alternia and for some reason, that makes you feel sorry for them.They probably never stood a chance

You snap your fingers and time trips, hits the floor face first and starts crawling in pain. Dave has already spun into his first opponent and for a moment you think you didn't need to use your powers. In the time it takes you to grab two heads, lift the humans and smack them together, he's spun in and elbowed one in the face, snapping it back. Continuing the spin, he kicks in his opponent's knee and uses his momentum to elbow another in the back of his head. You can see the man's eyes roll up as he loses consciousness from the sudden blow. You punch another man in the sternum, taking him out and then turn to the leader, grabbing him by the neck. You hadn't wanted this, but Dave's display inflamed you. Trolls were a warlike race and as much as you wanted nothing more to do with this, blood called. Releasing your hold of time, you tighten your grip on the man's neck.

Dave's leg is raised almost to his chest as he prepares to stomp his first target's head into the pavement. His expression is completely blank and your world slows as you register his intention. There's no mercy in his movements, only cold and final calculation. This isn't Dave Strider, DJ. This is a Knight, the man who killed the Demon at the End of Time through sacrifice no one else could make. 

“Stop!” The word comes out louder and angrier than you intended, but dammit, you are angry. Dave catches himself and his foot slams down next to the thug's head. Said thug immediately vents his bladder. You turn your anger on the thug leader.

“I could snap your neck as easy as opening a can of Coke. And who knows, maybe I'd use your pathetic human body for the same reason. Quit this bullshit and start a new life or next time I WILL.”

You toss him away and he hits the pavement once, bounces, twice, rolls and slams into a lamp post. The street's lights flicker at the disturbance but all you can hear is the beating of some terrible drum. You think it's your heart but it would have burst at this speed, your rust blood accelerating too quickly through your system. That's when Dave's hand catches yours and he pulls you away, snatching up his bag and breaking into a run. 

His grip is so tight you can feel the pulse of his heart and that's when you realize it: it's not your heartbeat ringing in your ears - it's his.

\--

You pound your way up the stairs, not stopping for anything until you've wrenched open the door to your apartment and slammed it behind Aradia. Hands on your knees and bent over double, your breath is heaving out your lungs and hers is only slightly better. Goddamn. Goddammit. Fuck. That was insane, what the fuck were you thinking Strider? Your brain caught the bus to Shithive-upon-the-Maggots, in Lower Dumbfuckington? It was just stupid fucking mus-

Aradia's grabbed you and spun you around. Her nails are inhumanly sharp and dig into your shoulders as she holds you at arms length. Her eyes nearly glow an eerie yellow and red in the dark of your apartment. No, they shine and when you realize that those are tears your heart finds itself in your throat.

“Why?” the way the troll's normally rich alto whimpers it out nearly breaks your heart.”Why... I thought we were done with all that?”

Your first instinct is to go back on the offensive and point out that hey, she didn't seem to mind cutting loose. You'd certainly have busted that out against Rose or Jade, but you don't know why you can't bring yourself to say it now. Instead your mouth stumbles around excuses in an incoherent mumble until it accidentally trips over the fucking truth, of all things.

“You- didn't want to trash music you said you liked.”

The tears are no longer welling, but flowing freely now. Tinged rusty red, the rivulets glimmer in the darkened city's light. Your hand comes up to brush them away before you realize you don't have the reach and she's still holding you out, intentionally.

“Dave. Promise me. Fucking _promise me_ you won't pull something like that for my sake again. And fucking promise me you'll _never_ make that face again.”

You don't have to ask what face she's talking about. You've seen it on countless other Dave's. Total blank dedication to the task at hand. Fuck you in your plush rump, why the hell did you pull that shit tonight? You can't believe you still have the gall to ask yourself that question.

Voice cracking, you manage, “Alright. Promise.”

And then she's crushing you to her like you're a goddamn teddy bear and no matter how much it hurts you grit your teeth and remind yourself you deserve it. Only thing that's left is to hug her back. Your arms come up, and up, and up until you can curl your hands around her shoulders limply. As a silent near-sob wracks her, your grip tightens until you're nearly crushing her in return. Your face is pressed into her shoulder, your glasses riding up and you feel as cool as a mud puddle in the Rio. 

“I'm sorry,” someone whispers. “Sometimes I think that's all that's left of me. The cold and empty. And sometimes it actually feels good. Better than the alternative.”

With some surprise, you realize it was you.

“No.” Her voice thrums through you, lowered in a whisper. “It never is. Trust me.”

With some surprise, you realize you do. 

In the dark above the streets of a city, two scarred veterans of a war no one will ever know about hold each other and weep. Their hearts beat out of time, but pressed as close as they are, they take comfort in the pulsing life of another who knows them.

\--

You wake, too early in the morning, splayed halfway across a couch too small for your frame. Your eyes open blearily and a laptop is on the coffee table in front of you. Your attempts at moving bring it out of standby and Youtube appears, displaying the end of a silly video about cats. Your brain catches up. 

Last night. You'd finally had enough of the tears and with a laugh, declared that you were still too wired. Dave, to his credit, immediately reclaimed his poise and clammed up. To Youtube, he declared, and fucking stupid videos until we pass out like freshmen at their first kegger and no one ate lunch. Except the beer was kittens and lunch was happiness. You both crashed onto the couch and queued videos. As weariness, physical and emotional, caught up you passed out. Dave first, onto your shoulder. You put your arm around him for his comfort, but soon you were fading as well.

Which left you here. Mostly horizontal on the couch, Dave's wiry form half around you, head resting on your... oh dear. Surely your blood colour must be apparent from your flush. You breathe out carefully and hold the man up as you slide out from under him. Laying him down gently, you abscond to the bedroom and barely bother to shuck your pants before collapsing into his bed. You roll your eyes at the second blush that threatens you at that thought, but you're too tired to do anything more about it. You drift into nothingness, clutching happy memories you manage to cling to in the dream. In that umbral world, you never woke, and Dave was still curled about you.

\--

You dream of lava and gears. Their inexorable grinding is nothing like the soothing beat you remember from LOHAC. The heat is draining in a way Texas could never compare you. Your blade is heavy in hand and you can barely lift it. In the distance, you know, is endless battle and blood. A million and one deaths, waiting to be explored. With grim determinism, you grip the sword and step forward. Your foot hits the gear and you hear a sonorous _tock._

Your head comes up and cocks to one side. _Tick._ Following the sound to your left, you spy a landmass in the distance. Obsidian rock, with ashen shores. _Tock._ You set off towards the beat. From gear to girder you leap, following your own internal rhythm, never letting the grinding gears and popping lava deter you. You reach the end of a girder, extended yards across the lava towards the island. You look down. Fifteen, twenty feet. _Tick._ An obsidian disc with a red mark rises from the lava to float on its surface and without a thought you drop to it. As the air rushes past you, you realize it's a massive record. You land with an echoing _tock._ Another record rises ahead of you and you leap toward it and it's following mate. Halfway to the island, and the next _tick_ is nearly deafening. No more records are rising. The lava rises and wind is sucked towards the island. _Tock._ A gentle breeze wafts past your face from the island. The lava lowers and still no records rise.

You take a seat, and listen to the ticking. You've remembered something. The Knight of Time doesn't have to be in a rush. Time is on his side. You can wait for your bridge to complete.

You wake, and your arms are strangely empty.

\--

You wake and at the edge of your hearing, you can still hear the beat of his heart.


	5. Interlude 1: ==> Aradia: Step In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More than ten years on this planet and you cannot get over your differences sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a mix of headcanon, descriptions and a look into Aradia's mentality

==> Aradia: Step In

The bathroom is the coolest room in the apartment, but even then it's a sweltering oven. The extra humidity from the shower doesn't help and you can feel your hair curl just standing there. The medicine cabinet's mirror is still fogged from Dave's shower and you sloppily wipe it clear. Through the streaks, you can barely make out your reflection. Hell, you can barely see your face and have to stoop to see the top of your head. Standing six foot three at your crown before your horns, you're the second tallest of the trolls, bare inches behind Kanaya's willowy frame. That's more or less where the resemblance ends though.

You strip the t-shirt you're wearing off. Loose and baggy, completely different from anything Kanaya would wear and for good reason. Kanaya might be able to pull a girl's tee over her horns, but the width of yours precludes that. You'd stretch it terribly and so make do with button-ups and loose, baggy shirts or at least ones with decent elastic. Kanaya once tried to get you to try a wide, v-necked shirt, but the bare chest and plunging neckline made you uncomfortable. Shopping for trolls is hard.

As your shirt is tossed carelessly to the floor, your eyes remain on the mirror. Resemblance to human women is superficial as well. Your breasts, for one, fulfill a completely different purpose. Not mammalian, they are fat and water repositories and their size is typical of your blood caste. You weren't kidding when you told Dave that rust bloods go through growth spurts. Your body triggered this one once you'd started your first dig in university. The long hours of physical labour caused your body to assume you were being put to work as your caste usually was, in menial or back-breaking labour. It compensated with your current form. In the field, you found your breasts will actually shrink to compensate for water loss, and so you took to the habit of wearing sports bras. Not an ideal result, but better than having twice or three times as many as any other woman there. 

At two hundred and fifty pounds, you're nowhere near the human female norm, even for your size. Your muscle is denser, your bones harder and your head is weighed down with a pair of horns to make a ram steed cower in shame. And due to completely different reproductive habits, your hips are nearly non-existant, comparatively speaking. If you cared, you'd say your tits were your only selling point to the average human male, but you really don't. (you tell yourself. sometimes it's hard, being alone. you hide your self-conscientiousness deep, but sometimes catch yourself wishing you didn't stand out so.) In over ten years on this planet, you've taken a bare handful of lovers and you've had to be very careful about your biology. Discovering if the universe's illusion extended to hiding the feel of your horns was the least of your problems. 

You unbuckle your pants and they slide off easily. You step out of them and adjust your panties' elastic with snap. Your tastes run to briefs and boyshorts, mostly because you think they look cute and are fairly practical. Your broad frame is mostly muscle, so anything tighter fitting makes you uncomfortable. You run a hand across your abdomen, tracing an errant scar. Because of your long exile from the land of the living, your body isn't nearly as badly off as your other friends'. Terezi's is a goddamn mess of thatches, with Equius coming in a close, uncaring second. Nearly as pristine as you is Karkat, terrified for the longest while of anyone realizing his blood colour. Your skin isn't as smooth as human women's either, you've discovered first hand, and tougher to boot. Whereas a featherlight touch like this might send shivers down their skin, your have to use your nails. Tougher and naturally sharper than than those of humans, you trim and file them to avoid any unpleasantness. 

The sports bra comes off and you kick it and your pants into a pile with your shirt. The shorts go next and you're left staring at a body so similar to humans, and yet so different. Vestigial nipples and areolae crown your breasts, which hang heavy on your massive frame. Your bush is as unkempt as your hair and just as curly. Rather than being an obstacle, it's been useful to avoid close examination from your close physical partners. Horns are hard enough to conceal, never mind writhing bulges. Turn and view yourself in profile. At a human triple-D, you're physically desirable, but the troll culture you grew up in views your hydration reserves with disdain, a sign of a low blood caste. Even after ten years, it's hard avoiding that impression. Your shoulders are broad and the most defined part of your body. What definition you display as a troll is there as corded muscles stretch taut over your bones. In contrast, your butt is cushy and possessed of the wiggle desirable to both species. 

Your subconscious often reminds you of your failure to measure up to trollish standards of beauty, but fuck it. You live on earth now and don't give half a damn for either standard. You're your own woman and mating futilely isn't high on your list of things to do right now (though someone to hold through the dark and empty would be nice). You've got decades to indulge and/or find the right person. Right now you want to land a teaching position in the field you love and take it from there. With a smack of your ass and a smile at yourself in the mirror you step in to the shower.


	6. Precipice in Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> that abrupt feeling when you come to the edge of a cliff and realize

"Come on, it'll be fun!"

"Nope nope nope annnnd nope."

"Dave, you HAVE to come this year. You never show!"

"Yeah, like I want to see an alien with her tongue down my ectosis' throat, my ex, the world's angriest midget and Dinkus and Doofus, all in one room wearing the most hideous sweaters imaginable. I mean claw-my-fucking-eyes-out-and-serve-them-chilled shit. I swear to god Rose knits that visual noise bright enough to get through my shades on purpose." Leaning against the wall, you cross your arms. The two of you are arguing in your apartment over holiday plans. "Also, cold as balls."

"Oh stop being such a wuss. And they're your friends! You've got to be missing them... right?" Aradia is less sure of that and it shows in her voice. It's not a rhetorical question, as much as she wants it to be. She actually needs to hear the answer from you and it makes you rather uncomfortable. Hell yes you miss Jade, Rose and even Egderp. But that environment...

"Yeah, 'course. But it's not like I can afford it right now. Christ, how much does a ticket to New York even cost? Ain't like I've got a money tree out back. Hol' on thar Mabel, lemme just go shake some bills loose and it's off t' tha ae-ro-port!"

Aradia's face brightens up and not from your lame-ass joke. 

"I found a great deal! It's a couples' skiing bundle fro-"

"NOPE.jpeg."

"Would you just hear me out?"

"Really, let's strap the kid from Texas into a pair of skis and shove him down a hill. It's not like he's going to break 210 of 206 bones halfway down the mountain, lose consciousness and be feasted upon by a pack of wild wolves because of his choice and succulent flesh. Meanwhile, the other half of this airquote couple end airquote pines for her short-lost love at the bottom of the bunny hill, where he was actually supposed to be skiing because-"

"Dave!" Aradia rises with a stomp that sets the apartment shaking and you actually flinch. "Stop evading and LISTEN. It's a cheap deal and we don't even have to do the skiing part. Just take the flight and go to Rose's. No couple or skiing bullshit because you wish and I can't ski either, just a plain old trip to visit friends."

The papers are clutched and crumpled in her hand. Her fist is clenched so tightly, her arm vibrates a little. You have no idea why she wants you to go so badly and yeah, ok, you're lying to yourself now. She's concerned because you haven't spoken to anyone other than her properly in years. Hell, you barely speak to her; she's the one who always initiates conversation. Over the past decade you've grown used to distancing from people. Aradia never had to deal with any of that from you because you were never close but she sure isn't taking any of it now. You reluctantly look her in the eye to shoot the idea down and holy hell she's actually pissed at you.

...

"...how much?"

"One-fifty plus tax."

You can't believe you're considering this. You can't believe you're going to try and surround yourself with bad memories and nightmares over Christmas. You can't believe you're going to give up a week's worth of pay for this shit. You certainly can't believe you're being swayed by a troll you've had less than 2 months contact with over the course of a year. And so you grab your wallet and keys and head to the door.

"Dave, please don't run away from this."

Shooting her a glance over your shoulder, you say, "Well, I was gonna buy a motorcycle and fuck off to who knows where but now it seems I gotta go buy me some winter clothes."

This time you are responsible for the smile that graces her face. You feel like less of a shit. So to fix that, you paste a smile on your face and screw your voice up into a sickly sweet purr. "Now come on _honey_ , if we're going to be a _couple_ I'm going to need to pay you back for that ticket." 

Still bright, she grabs her stuff, coming after you. Face snapping back to deadpan, you mutter, "ATM's on the way."

\--

You're nervous. You're always nervous going through security. You don't understand why, when the humans remade their world, they remade it exactly the way it was with all the prejudice and corruption present. It's bad enough sticking out, it's even worse when you stick out and actually have something to hide. You're not Dave, you can't hide the slightest sign of discomfort under a mask of disinterest. You've made sure to wear business casual and without any metal accoutrements and you've stuffed your coat full of your miscellaneous junk into the tray with your shoes and oh god hat have you forgotten. It should be fine, right? It was when you went to Jordan. So when it's your turn, you take a deep breath and carefully step barefoot through the scanners. The officer waves you over and gives you a pass with the paddle, his eyes never leaving your chest. Your only concern is that he's too distracted to pay any attention to any possibly strange readings or the way he involuntarily gives your head a wide berth.

Dave passes through similarly, his wave-down even more cursory. As you're picking your stuff up from the roller belt, he looks at you from the corner of his eye.

"You alright there?"

"Yeah, it's just..."

"Don't trust the illusion?"

"Yeah."

He nods. "Can't blame you. Still weird sometimes, no one else noticing the alien with the candy-corn horns."

"I get enough attention looking like this as it is, so that I'm used to. It's the more... focused attention I'm uncomfortable with. We still don't know the extent of the coverage, and until there's an affected human we trust all we can do is believe the technology."

Dave looks at you blankly and vaguely confused. You wonder briefly what you could have missed out and then you realize, "Oh! You left before Rose got us set up with IDs!"

Fishing about the pockets of your coat, you pull out your passport and show it to Dave. He flips it open and finds the picture of the human woman that looks very much like you.

"So instead of a towering, stacked alien chick with horns and wild hair... you're a towering, stacked black chick with wild hair."

"Middle-eastern, actually, I think. It's kind of hard to tell."

You watch Dave as he stares at the picture. He holds it one way, and then another. Finally he flips the passport shut and hands it off to you. "That is some straight up magic-eye crap going on there. Half expecting to see text asking 'Wolverine? Or two Batmans?' Hell, how does stuff like that happen, asks the young man who can stop time of the alien girl from another dimension yeah ok I'll stop digging a hypocritical logic hole to China now."

You have no idea how he got that all out in one breath, even as deflated as he looks. But he makes you smile and your tension eases out of you. The rest of the trip should be fine, albeit uncomfortable. Airplane seats were not meant for those your size. 

\--

It's bitterly fucking cold and snowing when Rose finally opens the door but it's nearly all worth it to see the outright surprise on her face. 

"Aradia! And... is that Dave?! We weren't expecting you. That is to say, you were expected Aradia, certainly. Dave, on the other hand has not graced us with his magnanimous presence in nearly a decade! Is that even you under all that padding and parka? I can spy your ubiquitous glasses but little else. However did it come to transpire that you're here, brother dearest?"

"Jesus Christ woman I'm freezing my goddamn balls off can we please fucking come inside before my shriveled Texan 'nads drop off entirely and some wild forest animal uses them as a chew toy?"

A snide, but soft smile graces Rose's lips. "Of course. We wouldn't want anything to happen to your vaunted jewels," and she holds the door open while you shuffle in, your snowpants rustling like a pile of portable fall leaves. You kick off the massive boots you've stuck yourself in and shrug out of the over-sized coat. Pulling off the snowpants nearly loses you your jeans, but you recover flawlessly. 

"Goddamn, it's like the G-man took a massive precipitous shit on New York and flushed it with baking powder and cocaine. Snow up to my goddamn waist out there. It's like I'm a fucking hobbit on Caradhras and there's no Boromir to pull me out."

"Don't worry Dave, I'll save you." Aradia's delivery is so deadpan you almost crack a smile and it gets a crooked eyebrow from Rose.

"Well I shan't be the one to question our good fortune that the prodigal son has returned. Instead, let us proceed to the drawing room where majority of our companions have gathered."

Rose leads you through the corridors of her massive mansion. The place is every bit as cold and massive as you remember it. Lights are turned off for the most part and what illumination you have is from the bright moon off the snow outside. In any other context, you might think it was beautiful, but considering how nervous you are it just seems creepy. A man could get lost in here, go without food for days, start making hyperbolic comments like an idiot. The walk to the drawing room takes much longer than expected and every time you think Rose is going to open a door, she just passes it. What are they, hallway closets? What the hell is a drawing room anyways?

Finally she pulls up short in front of a cracked door from which warm, flickering light spills. She opens it all the way and heat spills out in a wave. A fireplace, most likely. She claps her hands once.

"Attention, all and sundry. It appears we have a special guest this Noel."

You hesitate, just out of sight and then Aradia has shoved you through the door. You catch yourself, do a quick hop to regain your balance and straighten with all the cool you can muster. Which is likely fuck all. But then that doesn't matter as the room explodes into,

"Dave!"

"Coolkid!?"

"Oh my."

and 

"OH FUCK OFF."

There's a goddamn rush of blue and you deftly sidestep a flying Egbert. You ignore the "wooowwff" behind you and wave casually to the room. Terezi and Karkat are on the couch, of course they are. Terezi looks good, you think. Her hair's grown out some and she looks slightly less than the bag of knives you remember but jesus christ on a pogo stick why are there more teeth. Apparently from the way Karkat is pulling her closer, they're back together. Your shocked face, you need to find it. He's wearing the same formless, baggy clothing you remember, an overly massive black sweater which gives Terezi's garishly red and green dress a perfect backdrop. Oh, the metaphors. 

But rising, no - unfolding and then rising, still rising is a luminescent troll standing even higher than Aradia. Tall and slender with wicked fangs and horns that go on forever, Kanaya moves with an impossible grace, gliding across the floor to welcome you. She bends slightly to hug Aradia and kiss her on the cheek gently. "Aradia, welcome back."

She turns to you and jade green lips curve into a smile reminiscent of Rose's. "And Dave, thank you so much for coming."

She doesn't speak the word finally, but you hear it all the same. "Yeah well, got sick of spending Christmas alone, figured I'd see the gang."

"Rose has missed you terribly, haven't you?"

"Nonsense, Kanaya. Dave and I maintain cordial relations via pesterchum on a regular basis where we exchange plentiful snark, sarcasm and smatterings of homophobic language. That being said, Dave I do believe you owe your ectosibling something."

She stands with her arms slightly open and after a second you clue in. Your eyes roll behind your shades and you step in for a quick hug. To the outside world, it's less than a second, but you stretch it out to maybe two or three. She squeezes you hard, you squeeze back and mutter, "Yeah missed you two sis."

Before the moment ends, she whispers, "And sometime we must really talk."

"Oh for god's sake, break them up before I vomit."

You flip Karkat the bird and he returns it while Terezi cackles. Good to see some things never change. John's clambered to his feet and is standing like Rose. You give him your best glare then grab a hand, shaking your head in mock disappointment. You make a fist of it and prop it up in the air before bumping it with your own. He laughs and then throws an arm around you regardless. He's gone a bit soft in the middle, you think, but good for him. He's gotten over things. Aradia's slid into a space on the couch beside Terezi and they're whispering. Or rather, Aradia's whispering and Terezi's cackling. John leans down and whispers not-subtly in your general direction,

"So, uh, you and Aradia...?"

Yep, gone soft, you think as you remove your elbow from his stomach. "Lalonde, where's the rum and eggnog, let's get this party started."

\--

It's after dinner and Dave is lording the fact that he doesn't have to do the dishes over John. Rose had co-opted him into helping cook and he proved decent at it to the amazement of all, ironically enough. You're full and you think you might have had just a bit too much to drink, but that's ok. Everyone's here but Jade and she could show up at any time. You sink deeper into the plush couch and bring your knees up to your chest and cup your mug of mulled wine in both hands. You've caught up with Terezi and Karkat and dispelled any thoughts about being "with" Dave. You were having a lovely conversation with Kanaya before she became irrationally distracted by your hair and went off to get something. Now you're content to sit and soak in the life around you.

Dave doesn't seem too poorly off and is cracking jokes with just about everyone, though keeping a fair distance from Karkat. You know Terezi's forgiven him, his life having served up enough justice to sate her. You don't like that attitude, but you let it lie because no harm done. Who knows, Dave might even talk to them if you give him a nudge. You silently berate yourself for thinking of meddling like some half-assed auspitice, and in any case, Dave can take care of himself. You think.

Kanaya returns with a massive comb in one hand and a steel-toothed brush in the other. Your eyes widen and you very nearly toss your wine in an attempt to get the fuck out. Uncurling yourself foils you however, as the tall rainbow drinker glides in and onto the couch behind you and with untrollish strength pulls you down.

“Nooo, Kanaya, don't do iiit!”

“Hush grubling. Your hair is a mess and could be so much better. I shouldn't wonder if you never comb it.”

“I do so! Every morning, with my fingers. Because that's the only way that doesn't hurt!”

Kanaya tutted. “Nonsense. You must merely work up to the brush. Now, you have the right of it, starting with your fingers.”

And Kanaya's long, elegant fingers found their way through your tangles and started to pull gently through your hair. You give a disconsolate whine and a pleading look at Terezi, but the blind troll is grinning and cackling with her tongue lolled out into the mulled wine. Karkat rolls his eyes and shakes his head at you. “Just let the meddlesome fuck have her way, less of us get hurt.”

Before long Kanaya's gentle pulling and combing has produced results and your hair is as parted and tidy as it ever gets. Then the comb comes out and she starts with that, following the same patterns. It pulls a bit and you wince at the particularly sharp parts but it goes surprisingly smoothly. 

“I apologize for those pulls but human utensils are unsuited to dealing with troll hair.”

“You're telling me,” you murmur. It was part of the reason you didn't bother. You'd fished enough broken combs out of your mane that you'd just given up. “What are you using then?”

“It is, ah, a horse's mane comb.”

You sigh. Of course it is. You can't imagine anything lighter duty would make it through the wire-tough fibres of your hair. But you let Kanaya continue, as this is not nearly as bad as you thought it would be. Eventually, you are lulled into a pleasant half sleep from the feeling of the comb and the mulled wine. You barely notice when she switches to a brush, aside from the rough scratching noise it makes. Time passes and eventually you're disturbed by Kanaya gently pushing you up.

“Aradia dear, you've draped yourself nearly completely over me. If it's not too much trouble, could you please stand for a moment that I may go see what's taking Rose?”

You rise, reluctantly, and as you do your hair cascades down your back and Dave and John enter.

\--

You have a goddamn headache from the wine and John's being a good sport about it, despite the ragging you gave him about the dishes. Good guy. Best friend. Once upon a time. You step back into the welcoming heat of the drawing room, rubbing your temples absently. Gotta get off the wine. Your eyes come up and you freeze. Aradia rises from the couch and time slows to a molasses crawl as her hair tumbles past her shoulders, shimmering in the light of the fireplace. It's like liquid obsidian and where it catches the light of the fire, it almost looks like molten rock is showing through cracks. 

Your heart is in your throat and you almost lose hold of your wine mug because wow. You wish you'd never given up photography because if you could save one moment in your entire life, this would be it. Your heart pounds once and the rush of blood nearly topples you. She looks at you through sleepy eyes, blinks once, twice and you think you might be lost. Then Kanaya steps between you on her way out and the moment is broken. Get a fucking hold of yourself, Strider. Kanaya moves past you and lightly slaps you in the chest with something. You catch hold of it as she drops it and discover it's a brush. You look up and Aradia seems to have woken and is busily looking elsewhere. You shoot a glance at Kanaya's retreating back and then one at Aradia and then one at John.

It's his knowing grin and encouraging nudges that set you on your path. You toss the brush on a side table and head to the dining table. You spin out a chair and mount it backwards. Sufficiently distanced from the situation and your cool restored, you take a sip of wine.

Oh good, there's Kanaya with your sister. Everyone's eyes off the unknowable hotness that is Strider for now. Rose brings her violin case with and gets gently herded to the middle of the room by Kanaya. With a mildly annoyed look at her girlfriend (matesprit? partner? whateverthefuck.) she undoes the clasps and brings out an elegant violin. You can't remember if it's the same one from years and years ago, but considering how well Kanaya and her have done for themselves, it wouldn't surprise you if it was a new one. Everyone else seems to have been expecting this and gathers around. Karkat and Terezi in a corner of a couch, Aradia in the opposite, and John in an easier chair. Kanaya manages to perch elegantly on the arm of the couch next to Aradia and you do your best not to stare at the coal-black locks again. Goddamn, you had no idea you had a thing for hair.

Rose lifts the violin to her chin and with a look out at the small gathering, waves the bow in a perfunctory, mocking salute.

\--

It's strange how quickly you forget that behind the biting cold veneer that Rose puts up, she has the potential for incredible emotional depths. Then again, when the only sign of them you can experience is her music once a year, you quickly forget. Kanaya's the lucky one, who can experience it on a more regular, perhaps daily basis. 

The melody is rich, warm and wandering. You're fairly certain it's not any formal piece, not from any noted composer, but rather played off the top or her head, or perhaps the hidden depths of her heart. There are hitches sometimes, bumps in the road where a bridge doesn't quite connect, but it's hard to tell. The tune is slow and rambling and suits a night in front of the fire while snow drifts outside. Her eyes are closed and as she plays you can see her features soften. Your eyes flick up to Kanaya quickly and the adoration there is nearly heartbreaking and you don't know why. She is so impossibly flushed for Rose, you have to wonder if Rose understands. The tune deepens and the light seems ebb out of the room as the fire dies down. You'd write it off as God-tier powers, but light had never been the point of the Light portfolio. 

Though as Kanaya became the strongest source of light in the room, you have to wonder. As the tune swells and you feel a tug on your heartstrings, you have to wonder. As Rose's eyes open with slow purpose, looking straight at Kanaya, you have to wonder if perhaps she does understand and just has a way of showing it more suited to herself. The music recedes and there's a short break where Terezi claps enthusiastically and Karkat grumbles something. Then Rose saws the bow across the violin, the fire roars up and a much jauntier tune strikes forth. Your foot begins to tap and yes, you could dance to this. 

Terezi seems to think the same and is trying to pull Karkat from his seat to do so. He isn't have any of it and admit the muttered cursing he finally manages to yank his arm back. You hope to your feet to go and grab her when the sprightly melody suddenly gains a percussion accompaniment. A look at Dave and he's rapping his knuckles against the table chair, taking his cue from the violin. He's not looking at you specifically, but you wonder at his timing. He slugs back the rest of his wine and drags a side table over, still keeping the beat with his other hand. By then you've grabbed Terezi and she's grinning infectiously as you spin her around. You don't even try to dance to the tune with this whirling nightmare of angles as a partner and before long you're laughing at her hectic movements.

Dave's expressionless behind his glasses and facing Rose. You're pretty sure they've locked eye contact and are somehow coordinating with strange human sibling telepathy because this improvisation is impressive. Dave adds a plate to the side table for a different sound and runs his nails across the fabric on the back of the chair to simulate scratches. Before long the sound has developed into a pretty serious percussion section and those not dancing are nodding to the mix of beat and melody. Rose has had formal training but Dave keeps up with practiced talent honed in clubs. More importantly, he knows what the crowd likes. He somehow manages to match the beat to Terezi's haphazard gyrations and Rose lets him take the lead, supplementing the pulsing beat with a quiet background hum and staccato bursts from her violin. 

Then before long Terezi's out, collapsing half-sprawled across Karkat and wheezing with laughter, but you've still got the energy to keep going. Dave and Rose seem to have other plans though and the rhythm picks up. Dave sets a beat half-familiar to you and Rose fills it with notes for you to play with. You let your hips, arms and body speak your appreciation. Soon you're spinning to the cyclical, rising music, riding the crescendo and your hair flares up, rising out to a plane. As the crescendo comes to a crashing end, you arch your back, throwing it out wider and come sliding to your knees.

\--

Her hair turns into a shimmering fan at the end, catching what little light is left and when she comes to her knees it whisks about in front of her face like a veil. She ends bent back on her knees, horns back against the carpet, arm splayed outward and heaving out of breath. When she lifts herself back up and forward, you can see her muscles flex through the draped shirt. She is completely alien, built completely unlike human women and as her hair shifts back and out of her face, completely and utterly awe-inspiring. There's a slow pulse in your ears that can't be your heart because it's going at a mile a minute and when her ember red irises meet yours,

_goddamn._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's nowhere to go but down

You wake screaming and with a pounding hangover. This would not be so bad if you hadn't woken screaming three times already before six am. A bleary glance across the room at the digital clock tells you it's almost nine. Man was not meant to sleep in three-hour bursts and the haze that covers your consciousness is proof. You've dealt with hangovers before but rarely hangovers with a side of brutal, pain-inducing flashbacks. It's not a pleasant feeling and this kind of tiredness. Whaddya say Strider, give the Sandman another shot, hope he isn't packing heat again? Can't go any worse than the past half dozen times you've had to re-live a vicious dismemberment or imps eating your cooling insides. Who was it that said insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result? Legendary Seattle Supersonics pitcher Troy Aikman. Yes. You're sure. 

It only gets worse once you throw back the covers because holy crap it's colder than an Inuit's tit out here. Giant-ass fucking mansion and most of the rooms aren't heated. Your attitude degrades from irritable to pissy and you have a feeling everyone's going to know. In an effort to regain your cool you check out your en suite and down a good gallon of water. Working your jaw you realize you must have clenched through the night again. You haven't done that in years, goddammit. This place is hell. As the glass rings against your teeth you realize the damn thing's crystal. And in a _guest bathroom._ Jesus Christ on a blasphemously erotic pogo stick.

You're about to throw something vaguely resembling clothing when you notice it, hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Yes. Yes this will do nicely. Shrugging into your princely garb, you only wince slightly at the twinge in your over-tensed muscles. It's a mile to the bedroom door if it's a yard but when you open it, and your nostrils flare oh god yes it's all worth it.

\--

There's a lot you disagree with in how the humans recreated their world. Maple syrup isn't on that list. In fact, if you had to save on thing on this planet maple syrup would be pretty high on your list of possibilities. Somewhere up there would be bacon as well and sausages. And possibly John Egbert. You know what? Fuck it. John Egbert and his breakfasts. You are shovelling food into your face with all the grace of a troughbeast like you've just come back from a dig so you don't quite notice the room go quiet and stare for a second. When you clue in and turn, you nearly choke on your food with the others.

Dave's made his way to the coffee machine and is pouring himself a cup. In little more than a fluffy white robe. In fact, you'd be almost certain it was NOTHING more than a fluffy white robe had the damn thing not been tied off expertly. His shades are on perfectly, his hair is mussed and he's leaning artfully against the counter. A cautious sip.

"What?"

"Errr, Dave, could you, uh...?"

"That is to say, brother, would it inconvenience you terribly to put on a pair of pants before joining us next time?"

"Oh." A voice like silken innocence. "But this's how I always dress in the morning."

"Nuh iff nodd!" you exclaim around a mouth of bacon and pancakes. And now attention has been masterfully and accidentally directed off of Dave and squarely onto you. Aside from Kanaya who stares off into the middle distance and whose eyes cut between you and Dave regularly. Oh bugger fuck. As if people didn't draw the wrong conclusion enough already. Dave stares at you implacably. Damn his calm.

"Well, it's how I always dress in the morning when I wake up and my room is colder than a fucking freezer on Hoth."

"Ah. So that is how it is to be. Very well. I shall see about turning the heat up in your individual portion of the labyrinthine corridors that constitute this abode."

"Boss." And he drags a stool up to the island to start eating. Kanaya finally clears her throat.

"Were you not perhaps going to change, Dave?"

"Nah. Hey, Egbert, fucking amazing pancakes." As he and John talk, you manage a look behind his glasses. Not that you were trying to catch his eyes, not at all. You've put out of your mind how the backlight of the dining room last night let you see through his shades, the way his eyes widened at you and how breath seemed to come that much harder. No, you try and sneak a look because you know when Dave's deflecting and an inkling of an idea is beginning to form. And sure enough when he turns his implacable shades on John fully, you see the bags under his eyes and weight in them. Your heart sinks as you begin to realize.

\--

You're more or less recovered by the evening and Jade still hasn't arrived. No one appears to be really surprised, apparently her research at the university is all-consuming. For a brief, unguarded moment you're thankful Aradia doesn't have such stringent hours. Though you do find her in a study just before dinner, sat at a desk with a massive stack of papers on one side and a much smaller stack on the other. She's tracing words across the paper at an impressive speed, brow furrowed and locks hanging precariously around her face. A slim red pen spins effortlessly through calloused fingers. The only light in the room is from the ridiculous antique bankers lamp. It casts a massive shadow against the wall, hunched over and horned like some satanic beast and completely at odds with the young troll huddled up in a sweater too large for even her.

The growl that issues from her throat could pass as hellish though. Like Tom Waits gargled with gravel and root beer and did his best Vader impression. 

"Damn, woman, that growl could cause a stampede in a herd of cattle." In comparison, your voice is lowered and soft, you don't want to interrupt rudely. Still, she starts slightly at the sound.

"Oh hey Dave. Sorry, its just marking freshmen. Holy hell, they're dense."

"Young and dumb?"

"Yeah." She's already re-focusing on her work.

"Remind you of anyone?"

"Hmm?" Well fuck, guess she's actually absorbed in that shit. Best let her b... "Oh Dave, I haven't been young in an ever."

The offhanded mention freezes you at the door as you leave. You take a second look at her over your shoulder, but she hasn't moved and the fingers twirl the pen again. But that voice was hollow, unfeeling, devoid even of despair. You have to wonder for a moment if what you'd heard was even Aradia. Then you sidle on out, taking your paranoia with you. Let the woman work, coolkid.

You don't see her at dinner and you reluctantly explain for her that she's marking. You don't want more idiots making assumptions. You sit down to dinner made by Karkat and down several glasses of wine to brace yourself. Terezi tries to drag a verdict out of you on the food but you keep your cool. Her cackle's starting to grate and even though John means well you really want to tell him to stuff his goddamn curiosity. So much for starting to feel better. You're not drunk enough to deal with this shit. You flip his questions on back at him and fuck you running, a guidance counselor? It's enough to wonder where the hell had you been for all these years to miss that career change. 

When dinner's over, Rose volunteers you to take some of the (actually hella good but like hell you're admitting that) meatloaf to Aradia. Yup, you're a regular butler, sans coattails. You will serve this shit with a flourish so you take a polished dome and a glass of wine along with. Your stride into the study is silent and flawless, but Aradia keen senses pick up the whiff of food and her head pops up. You present the meatloaf with a deep bow and she giggles a bit. Oh thank god - not that you've been trying to get a positive reaction out of her. As she takes the plate from you, you slide the glass of wine across the desk at her.

"Gotta catch up."

"Heh, yeah thanks Dave. I promise, as soon as I'm done here, I'll join you all outside."

You look at the stack of papers, about half done. You're not even sure what it is you're supposed to feel or say, and so to cover it, you shrug and keep your cool. Fat lot of good it does.

"I know it's not fair of me to drag you up here and then hole up in a room when you..." she trails off and you jump on.

"Get my swag on with all the fine ladies out there? Yeah, I know, how the hell do I deal? Growin' up's hard and no one understands."

That gets you a weak laugh. "Oh, but Dave all those fine ladies appear to be otherwise attached!"

"Well shit, you're right. Guess Egderp wouldn't look too bad in a dress, so long as I got him to shave." Even you crack a smile at that image and Aradia descends into a fit of giggles. Tension you weren't even aware of eases out of you somewhat. You figure you'd better make good on your talking and give her a nod before heading away. Now to find a bottle of wine and get sufficiently inebriated hitting on John seems like a good idea.

\--

You wake long after everybody's gone to sleep and blearily raise your head off the desk. There's a quiet tearing sound as the title page stuck to your face separates itself from the rest of some poor student's paper. You peel it off and hope you haven't drooled all over their hard work. Then you set about making your way back to your room for a proper night's rest. It barely crosses your mind to check on Dave and so you don't and instead your attention to the silken embrace of the bed and the white abyss of sleep.

When you wake the next morning it seems like business as usual. You schlep the final stack of papers with you to the kitchen and go through them over cereal. Apparently it was a rough night for everyone as people trickle in. John's the only one in what even approaches a good mood and he barely manages a weak smile before downing a glass of water. He's roughly hipchecked aside by Karkat who fills two glasses with water and heads back with them, uttering not a word but dispensing death glares freely. When you ask John what the deal with last night was, he just points at the dinner table through the divider.

There's at least a dozen bottles of wine, two liquor bottles of some sort and several smaller bottles. You blink. Holy crap. 

"Yeah, Dave got us started on a drinking game. No one really wanted to give in, aside from Kanaya, so we went through a loooooooot of booze."

"Who won?"

John's face and tone become grave. "No one."

As your eyes widen in surprise he cracks a smile and chuckles. "Gotcha."

You ping a cheerio off his head and go back to your marking. The others filter in slowly, with similar faces and stories to tell. In the end, you discover it was Dave and Rose who were left standing (or rather, stumbling) as some weird sibling competitive streak refused to let either give in. No one saw how that ended and Rose was mute on the matter. Dave is the last one up, and he returns well after lunch. By that point you've managed to kill off the last of the papers (literally, alas, you had to fail the poor idiot) and are happily chatting with Kanaya. Kanaya, of course, turns the conversation to your personal style these days. You're in the midst of explain that, thank you, but you're quite happy with how you portray yourself to your peers. You're an archaeologist, not a business woman. The conversation continues in this vein but you're only half paying attention, as you're playing the "see behind Dave's glasses" game again. You're giving half-hearted answers to questions about your life and you're starting to get irritated by her meddlesome ways. Eventually Kanaya quietens, so suddenly that your attention actually shifts towards her.

"Aradia," she begins, voice low and smooth like honey. An involuntary tingle goes down your spine as the sound of it washes over you. You reflect for a moment how lucky Rose is. Here is a paragon of human and trollish beauty and the effect of her full attention is disarming. "Are you thinking of pursuing any sort of relationship with Dave?"

You scowl. "If I were, it wouldn't really be any of your business."

"That is so." You hear an however as the taller troll blinks slowly. "However, the intensity of your gaze is somewhat," a serpentine arm whips out and snaps its fingers in front of your face as you turn back to the kitchen, "worrisome."

You're about to go off on her, but you hesitate. "Worrisome how?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, Aradia, Dave is rather insensitive and rather oblivious. How he can manage to miss the fact that you're staring at him regularly is beyond me."

"I'm only staring because I'm worried!"

"As I said." She smiles smugly and you have to bite your lip to avoid answering. You're not sure if you want to spread the word. "And do you think he would return the same worry?"

"I'm not the one that needs it! He's just so..." You trail off, uncertain how to express your feelings without exacerbating the situation. "Look, I'm just..."

You have nothing of import to say and Kanaya simply regards you patiently. You're coming to the realization that you have little idea and less control of what's going on. The friendly camaraderie you share with Dave is starting to twist into something altogether different in your mind. When you haven't said anything for a while, the other troll simply reaches across and pats you on the knee before picking up and reading a slim book. Burying your face into a pillow you wonder when feelings became this hard because you've not been this confused since coming back to life.

\--

Brilliant fucking idea Strider. Get so wasted you pass out and don't have to worry about waking up screaming. But then wake up screaming and vomiting and with a headache to boot. You're a fucking Einstein. Now you'll have to clean the sheets. You're pretty sure this fucking place doesn't have a butler. You wish you'd had the sense to stop last night. You wish two bottles of wine had been all there were in this house. You wish the fucking nightmares didn't give you so much shit that drinking until you passed out seemed like a good idea. You wish you'd never come to this fucking party because now not only do you have deal with reliving your own deaths, your nightmares are showing your friends being slaughtered.

"Hey Dave!" You nearly jump a mile out of your skin at John's words and the clap on your shoulder. "Man, we got completely plastered last night! Better lay off today, even though it's Christmas Eve!"

You grunt and reach for some bland toast. Coffee and toast. Things your stomach understands and won't threaten to revisit upon your mouth. You turn from Egbert's chipper grin and go looking for a chair to sit down in and recuperate. He takes the hint, or at least decides that Rose needs to be nagged about plans for the evening. You find an oversized wingback chair and sprawl into it. Not quite as languidly as you'd like, but still plenty cool. You'd try for a leg over an arm, but the rush of blood to your head might split the damn thing open like a ripe watermelon at a county fair. Yee-haw Myrtyl, lookit tha' one pop! 

You wince. Ok, the folksy voices in your head are too fucking loud. Goddamn but you tied one on last night. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Just like centering for swordplay. Eventually the pounding in your head recedes. It's still there, but it's more like a familiar throb, an old, pulsating friend that you only sometimes want to punch in the dick. Kind of like Egbert. You zone out and become pretty much oblivious to everything and everyone. You have a vague recollection of someone offering you more coffee and you extending your cup robotically, but that is the extent of your human interactions.

At least until John shifts turns his attention from pestering Rose to you.

"...and Dave's got gigs for DJing, even his own CD!"

Your attention snaps back to reality, which manages to give you a sort of meta-whiplash. Seriously, fuck hangovers. "Who's got a what now?"

"That CD you sent around a couple of years ago! I was just telling Rose how far we've come since the game. Ten plus years later and we've come so far that I can barely remember what it was like back then. I..." He trails off and looks at your worriedly. There's a moment of disjunct where you can't tell what's wrong before you register the scowl on your face. Way to go Strider, crack your cool. Your head is swimming, your patience worn through, and God and all his clocks can't stop what's coming.

\--

For one sentence, you can't believe people forget that Rose and Dave are siblings.

"You can't remember?"

Dave's voice is no longer deadpan. So laden with derision and emotion it would be dripping were the tone not ice-cold. Like an frosted blade, Dave's words cut through the atmosphere of the room. You shift uncomfortably at what's coming, but you're not sure how to intervene. Dave coils up from his chair and for all the world looks like he's about to strike. And so he does, but with words instead of swords.

"Is your new life so sweet that you can barely remember the hell of those years? Really Egbert? Life as a guidance counselor so good that you can't remember everything we lost?"

"That's not what I sai-"

"No, you were all fuckin' goggle-eyed at how far we've come. _Seriously?_ A guidance counselor is some kind of achievement after the shit we've been through? We were fucking _gods_ with a universe on our shoulders. And now? You're stuck in a high school mentality, Rose is living off her mom's wealth and Kanaya's dresses-"

" _Excuse_ me?" 

"Oh sorry and some shots at writing and music that make mine look like fucking Grammy material. And I'm a fucking deadbeat trying to string together two jobs to make rent. Did you forget the parts where we died repeatedly and painfully to save a universe that doesn't care about us?! Oh wait, that's right. You died once. In your sleep. Jesus Christ Egbert, half the people in this room don't even have a fucking planet any more! How far we've come? Where the fuck are we? Jade's the only one who managed to fucking get on with it and she's not even here!"

The diatribe comes to climax and with spectacular timing a head of snow-covered raven hair pokes into the room. 

"Hey guys! Sorry I let myself in, but I figured I was late enough!" Jade's grin does nothing to melt the atmosphere in the room. It takes her a moment to realize the silence that has fallen is not directed at her.

"Huh. Three out of four ain't bad, I guess." Dave storms from the room, brushing past a confused Jade with not even a nod. You're half out of your chair, but Kanaya's gentle hand on your arm holds you back. You look at her, then the door that Dave left through and sit back heavily in your chair. You're pretty sure that this is all your fault.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and you don't even care, because there's someone below to catch you

Your face is wet and hot and there is no cool left to you. In your veins burns your birthright and it is fucking leaking from your _eyes_. Fuck this, fuck them, goddamn why's it gotta hurt so much. You barely remember to get your jacket before you're through the door and sucking in the cold. Your lungs nearly stop from it, your face freezes over, your very eyelashes crinkle but it is exactly what you need – the elemental antidote to the furnace that is your fucking clanking heart right now.

\--

“Holy crap what the hell was that?”

Jade has managed to shuck most of her clothes and suitcases beside the fire and sits cross legged in front of it. She is immensely darkened, and her boy shorts do not hide the tanlines inches lower than they are. Aglow with a different sort of light from Kanaya it is a wonder that none of you find her odd, sitting by the fire in her underclothes. But then, that's Jade.

“Dave flew off the handle, that's what.”

“An acrobatic dance move if I ever smelled one.”

“Goddamn you fuckasses are blind.” Everyone in the room looks to Karkat in surprise. “Wow and here I thought I was the king of self-centered douchebaggery.”

John clears his throat, “Maybe you'd better explain, best buddy.”

You don't give him a chance. “Dave gets nightmares around people from the game.”

All the eyes in the room are now on you. Oh boy. Things you weren't quite ready for. You feel astonishingly small. Squeaking you continue, “Sorry, it's my fault, I dragged him up here, he didn't want to come because of it and I made him and, and-”

And Kanaya and Jade are up and squeezed in on either side of you, hugging you. Tears that you hadn't felt well up run down your cheeks and they both shoosh you. You feel only marginally better. 

“What does he dream of, do you know?” Rose's voice is level and calm and you latch on. It's a wonder she never actually went into psychology.

“Um...I think he relives all his deaths.” Her face becomes more grave. 

“A great many. Oh dear. And you say being around us makes it worse?”

“Yeah. I got a clue when I crashed at his place the first time-” the others have the grace not to look too interested “and it's been creeping up on me ever since. Here, with those bags under his eyes, I don't think he's sleeping much.”

Kanaya makes a small noise beside you, halfway between realization and sympathy. Dave shifts uncomfortably. 

“So I guess what he said about me only dying once was because of this then?”

“I'm sorry, but yeah. When I first-” You swallow. Jade gives you a bit of a squeeze and you hug her. You haven't told anyone this, it seemed far too private. “When I first met him on the asteroid, I could see a line of his dead selves stretch into the afterlife, going further back than I could count. Their deaths were... vicious. I've died hundreds of times myself but those were mostly robotic. And still... terrible. His burden... I couldn't imagine.”

Silence. Silence broken only by Rose. “I fear it is worse than that. You recall our final battle with The Demon?”

The Demon at the End of Time. You shudder at the memory. A desperate battle in which-

_Dave hovers in mid air before the Lord in Scintillating Rainbow. In one hand is his sword and in the other Jack's, just recently pried from his corpse by Jade._

_“LITTLE MAN. DO YOU REALLY THINK THOSE PALTRY KNIVES CAN HURT ME?”_

_He is immense and surprisingly small at the same time. The power and fear radiating off of him is enough to set you shivering, but Dave hangs there, cool as ever. He commits a single shrug in answer. You can barely feel him working a subtle, powerful timefuck. You want to scream out a warning to him, warn him that his powers won't work on Lord English, but Terezi lays a hand on your shoulder. In spite of everything, she has a massive, shark-toothed grin. She whispers,_

_“Oh, this will be magnificent.”_

_“THEY HAVE BUT A FRACTION OF THE POWER NEEDED TO FELL ME.”_

_“K, good. For a second there I thought this wasn't gonna work.” A massive green skull tilts inquisitively._

_“A fraction, one part of a whole, yeah?” Dave gives his swords a twirl and loosens his shoulders and time unravels and overlaps all around him._

_“It's a good thing I brought the rest of us."_

_And the space of nothing suddenly filled with Daves. All of them._

You'd felt such pride then. Copied one straight out of you book. But then Rose speaks.

“Our Dave died in that fight.”

The room explodes from silence into a million unanswered questions and most shrill are yours and Terezi's. The small human raises a pale hand for quiet. “I only ever realized it afterwards and saw it with my rapidly failing Sight. He bore a tremendous degree of survivor's guilt for what amounted to no deaths. I believe that Dave, which is to say our current one, comes from a reality where he was the only survivor. Which probably lent him the determination and rage to strike the final blow where none of the others could. In that hectic melee, we simply lost track of 'our' Dave and assumed the survivor was him.”

Thousands, hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of dead Daves littering space. Only one came back. For more than a decade, you'd never questioned. A strangled cry, “And you never thought to let us in on this fucking secret?!”

Terezi's half out of her seat, incandescent in a way Karkat only ever is. “Why, Ms. Fermented Bitter Grape Juice, would you hide this very pertinent fact from us?”

She says “us,” but you all can hear “me.” There's barely any concern that flickers over Karkat's face, but you catch it. You suspect they are going to have a heart-to-heart soon enough.

“It was not my place to say. If he'd wanted to share, he would have.” Terezi quiets and sinks back into the loveseat. “He clearly still bears that guilt. I had hoped he would move on, but a decade later...”

Her gaze comes to a rest on you. You flinch at questions yet to come. “What?”

“Aradia, you've been with him the most recent and the most often. What do you think?”

“I...” You're silent for a long moment. Then you gently but firmly remove Jade and Kanaya's arms from around you and stand. “I think this all doesn't really matter and I should go after him.”

You do.

\--

You've cooled down and, more importantly, your heart has slowed the fuck down. You haven't even made it that far out into the snow, on account of it being up to your fucking knees. You still feel like shit though. The verbal drubbing you gave John, and technically everyone else too, hangs heavy above you head. Like some cartoonish anvil, about to drop. This is not what you'd planned on. Not that you know what you'd planned. So now you are cold and feel like shit. Phenomenal combo.

There's crunching in the snow behind you and when you turn, there's Aradia. She's half hunched over, hands in her pockets and lip caught between her teeth. Oh boy, here come the complicated feels. Well, you might as well start.

“Hey, so-”

“No no no, I'm the one apologizing here. I'm sorry I made you come here! I thought it would help you, but all I did was make it worse. I'm sorry for making your nightmares worse.” There aren't tears in her eyes, but they were probably recent tenants. Faintly surprised, you ask,

“You knew?”

She looks away and nods. 

“Since when?”

“When I first stayed with you. That was the first time I got an inkling, when you nearly jumped me waking up. After everything here and how tired you look... I wish I could take it back, I just wanted you to have some time with friends.”

She's breaking your heart and you don't know (don't want to think about) why. To hide it from her, you've got to either turn away or face her head on. You're not gonna make it worse by turning away from her and Striders know how to front. So you face her, full on.

“Thanks.” She looks surprised. You can't blame her. Hardly what you'd planned on leading with. Fuck, now to scrabble together some fucking reasoning when you can barely still think straight. “Look, it ain't like I never wanted to see them again. It's...”

You throw you hands in the air, as evocative a sign as anyone's ever gotten from you. Aradia's patient though. She gives you a slight nod, of it's okay, take your time. Halfway through, snowflakes that gathered in her hair drift free and through your sightlines. Her colouration is coming out in the cold and she's fairly aglow with ruddiness. She looks so goddamn earnest, you've got to try.

“I'm used to seeing myself die. Feelin' it. When you've died a million deaths, you learn to deal. Even if every one feels as harsh as the first. I can deal. But when I gotta see ya'll die again...” You swallow. “Fuck, I don't know. Rose could put it better than me. I just don't wanna go all Pavlovian on y'all. If nightmares are gonna dog me around y'all I don't want to associate y'all with nightmares. I don't need reminders of how I fucked u-”

And you realize what you've said too late. Your eyes go wide with horror before you can freeze your face into immobility. When Aradia advances on you with purpose, you manage a reflexive half-step back before she's gathered you up in her arms, holding you to her massive frame, cheek resting on the crown of your head.

\--

Dave is stiff with tension when you hug him, so your first words are, “Shhh, relax. I know.”

He's muffled, but you hear a “How?”

You're not about to give Rose away, so you lie with an ease you never thought you could manage. “Hey, I was a hero of time too. I get these things.”

“Then why-”

“Who you were isn't important. It's who you are now, the person with us.”

"Dave, I... I don't know that I can help with the nightmares. I don't know that I'd want to help. The only thing I know about dreams is that I don't have any. Haven't had any since my robot self. I dunno if something got left behind or I still can't feel properly or my soul is missing or... or what. But when I go to sleep, I'm alone in the white. I wake up empty and it takes me seconds to remember emotions."

You take a deep breath and against the expanding of your chest, you feel Dave reach up and hold you back. "I don't want you to shut yourself off from your friends, Dave. They're still your friends, and they care. Don't force yourself to be alone. Hell, stick with pesterchum if nothing else. I don't want you to live this empty, emotionless life. I might be selfish asking this because I'm scared what could happen to me, but I still want... what I want."

A nervous swallow. "If that makes sense. I mean..."

Dave pushes away from you, gently, sparing you from admitting more than necessary. Looking up, he regards you through darkened lenses as he returns to a coolkid's posture. The bags under his eyes look like they weigh as heavily as ever."Can't say about your robot self or anything, but sweetheart, from what you just said I can't imagine you not having a soul."

He shifts, snow crunching underfoot, and manages to look uncomfortable and in control at the same time. "And don't apologize for bringin' me up here. I came because you reminded me that yeah, I do miss them all. Even Karkles. Been too long."

Looking back at the house, there's a sigh. "Christ, I fucked up in there, huh? Cut the drink Strider."

"Was... was that to sleep?"

"Yeah. Not like it worked. Fucking dreams crept up, worse than ever. You know... I don't think the nights are too bad around you anymore. Maybe if I just take them one at a time I can hang out with the guys. Acclimatize and shit."

You take a hand. Holy crap, he's freezing out here! Your touch must burn, he's so cold. "Time to go inside?"

"Fuck. Yes." He doesn't let go and let's you lead him towards the house. Good thing, too. The snow's picking up again and the poor guy has enough trouble wading through the mess. Just inside the door, kicking off boots he says, "You go ahead, let 'em know I'm coming. I'm just gonna go get something for this fucking headache."

"Want something to wash it down with? Coffee? Cider?"

"Cider. More caffeine at this point would probably set off Atlas' jackhammer in my head and my brain would start melting out of my ears. Everyone would be all shit, look at that choice genius go to waste."

He goes off to see to his headache and you head back to the others. You didn't say everything you'd wanted. But you'd said enough. You were too damn self-centered to begin with, all about what you wanted for him. No need to bring up more about what you want, particularly when you don't even know what that is. Right now it's time for Dave to sort stuff out with the rest of them. You reach the room and hear their low murmuring. Stepping in, you hope this works out.

\--

It's hours later and you slump against your shut door, completely emotionally exhausted. Goddamn, but that was hard. You'd told your friends everything you could, approaching them one-by-one because you're not sure if you'd've been able to do it with too many people watching you pour your heart out and fuck up your speech.

But they were good talks, you think. You've made plans to try and visit them over the course of next year, starting with John and ending with Jade and the trolls on her island. Maybe by that point you won't be up screaming at all hours of the night. You and John had fallen all over one another trying to apologize before you jumped him and put him in a headlock. Jade, naturally, and been perfectly kind, understanding and quick with a “fuckass” to call you out on hiding anything from her. And Rose... you think Rose knew more than she'd let on. But she'd said with cool grace that you were of course welcome back whenever you felt the need and perhaps next time it could be when Kanaya was away at a show to minimize sentient presences. 

There's a knocking on the door behind you, and you start like a doe, a full leap with hunched shoulders. That's it, you need sleep. You're way too twitchy. If you were bomb squad, the house would be done. Getting your shit together, you open the door. And there's Terezi. Nope, not dealing with this.

“Hey.” No, dumbass, this is the part where you shut the door in her face like a tool, not act like a decent human being. But the slight troll in front of you does say anything immediately. Instead she slowly exhales, tiny breasts becoming almost invisible. 

“Was your absolutely criminal treatment of our relationship post-victory because of this... trauma?” Her nostrils flare and it hits you - she's sniffing for lies. Normally you'd try to lie your way out anyways, but at this point that'd do even more harm than normal.

“...yeah, sorr-”

“Were you or were you not aware that trolls regularly experience day terrors?”

Fuck. “Yeah.”

“Did it never occur to you that maybe I could have sympathized and helped?”

“...no.” A cavalcade of emotions rides across her face. “I'm sorry Terezi, I was completely and mentally fucked from suddenly having to personally deal with all the deaths of all myselves when we started to lose our powers. I didn't WANT help, I just...

“How did I die, in your universe?”

You freeze and your heart caves right the fuck in. As in wow, you actually have to brace yourself against the door frame and clutch your chest from the pain of memory. She watches you cold and impassively furious, shocked still from her own righteousness. How the fuck had _she_ figured it out? She'd always been sharp, in more ways than one, but this was ridiculous. You don't think Aradia would- but you owe her an answer if only because, well, it may actually lay some things to rest.

“You died in my arms, TZ,” you say, swallowing hard. “I don't even know how, just that I was too late. God of Time and suddenly I had none to give you.”

“And that's why you dropped me like a sack of ground tubers?”

You look up, over the rims of your glasses, let her smell the candy red, blurred by salty brine. “TZ, you said you loved me. Pitied me and loved me. I couldn't find the words to respond in time and when I saw you again... couldn't stand the idea of losing you again. “

She's quiet for a long while, sharp nose twitching slightly. “Damn you, coolkid. I did love you.”

You close your eyes. Do you owe it to her? Truth, dragged out of you like in an interrogation room? Damn you, Strider, you do. “Yeah. Me too.”

Her face is a mask of rage and loss all at once and she hauls back and clawed hand to make hash of your face. And you say, “Yeah, I loved you too.”

And she swings, her claws biting deep into the door frame as she pulls the strike. Hunched and hiding her face from you, you can still tell teal tears are dripping from her eyes. The wood of the frame cracks and pops as she removes her claws. She takes a step back. “But that's in the past, coolkid. I can't anymore. You know that, yeah?”

“Yeah.” No hesitation. “I fucked up.”

“We both did.” 

“You did noth-”

“Shut up.” She sniffles a bit and draws herself up. “We can sort this out more when you come to Jade's. You had better come, coolkid.”

And with that, she's off, down the hall. You watch her dagger frame retreat, listen to the _clack-clack_ of her cane and manage to feel slightly less like shit. Shutting the door, you strip off your shirt and ditch your pants before crawling under the haphazard covers. You're drifting off to sleep when there's a goddamn knock at the door. Grunting and swearing, you roll out of the bed and put your pants back on.

You open the door, putting on your best beleaguered expression, before staring up and up again at the robed form of Kanaya. “Um. Hi?”

She smiles slightly. “I am sorry to disturb you Dave, but I must ask – did Terezi come by here and speak with you?”

“Uh. Yes.” God, give the man a fucking medal for eloquence why don't you. Judges are you seeing this shit? Score cards, please.

“Ah. I apologize for any heated words that may have been exchanged. I will endeavour to smooth things over with her.

“Oh. Nah, I mean, no, you don't gotta. TZ and me are gonna sort that shit out when I'm at Jades.”

“Mm. Well, that is good, I suppose. Perhaps in the mean time, she will have time for perspective.”

You suspect Kanaya will ensure it. She can't help falling into moirailships or auspitices, whatever the fuck. So long as Rose doesn't care, neither do you.

“Good night, Dave.”

“G'night, Kanaya.”

This time you shut the door with possibly too much force and shuck your pants before collapsing into bed again. You toss your shades on the night table, done with them for today. Your body is not quite so willing to crash this time around and your senses are far too sharp. With ears used to picking out slight changes in pitch in a club, you can tell a whole fuck of a lot. Like the fact that someone is padding down the hall to your room. Rolling your head to the side, yup, there's a shadow under the door. You roll out of bed AGAIN and just answer the door in your boxers. The pissed expression on your face melts when you see Aradia.

Her hair is a mess, curls frayed like she'd just gotten out of bed. Unlike Kanaya, she's in bright blue woolen pajamas that have prancing sheep printed on them. The sleeves and legs are slightly too short for her and she fairly well fills them completely, built like a house as she is. Just so you're clear, it's probably one of the most adorable things you've ever seen. And then she goes and bites her lip, proving you wrong. 

\--

Oh god what the hell is wrong with you. You've come to Dave's room at who-the-fuck-knows o'clock and now you're just standing here like an idiot. But you don't know what to say, or more accurately, how to say it. You wring your hands slightly and look past him as you try to put words together. Bloody fuck Megido, you can lecture to a class full of humans and bench half a car but now you freeze up?

But Dave doesn't call you on it. He's just waiting but only for a moment more. Then he sighs and seems to give in to something. He turns and goes back into the room. A gentle movement of elegant fingers leaves the door to swing open behind him. You blink and in a moment overcome your hesitation, following him in.

He flops onto the massive bed and crawls under the covers. Just inside the door, you pause, uncertain still. Now he's shuffled all the way over to one side. And so you shut the door quietly, with an echoing click. Approaching the bed, you take in Dave's form, on his side and away from you, but still leaving plenty of space. The covers are still thrown back on this side, so you quietly slide into place beside him. For a moment, you're intensely glad that your horns make it impossible for you to sleep on your side, because there's a considerable chance you'd be spooning by morning. Bringing the covers up to your chin, you close your eyes and let yourself fade into the white.

\--

You are incredibly warm. In the darkness behind your eyes, it's an all-enveloping feeling and verging on uncomfortable. When you open them, you realize why. You're back in LOHAC, back in the dreams. But instead of dying horribly, you're sat on the edge of a massive record in a lake of lava and scaffolding extends above you like clouds. A piece of clockwork works it across the planet's impossible landscape and you follow it, in a familiar peace from when you last dreamed this. Then your attention is focused back to ashen shores of the obsidian island by a sonorous _tick_. The lava bubbles and churns before you and from the roiling mass emerges another shining disc. You wait and eventually hold your hand above the ridged material of the record to make sure it's cool. _Tock._

Then you hop over and move to its edge to find another rising, and another and another, all the way to the ashen shore. Your heartbeat quickening for reasons you're unsure of, you hurriedly leap from one to another and with a dusty crunch land on the shore. The "beach" is made of a dust finer than sand and harder than ash, but easy enough to walk on. _Tick_. With crunching steps, you make your way inland, to the base of the obsidian plateau that seems to make up this landmass. 

\--

 _Tock_. The sound echoes through your soul and suddenly the world is not white. It's gray and black and as your eyes fly open, there's a sky filled with girders and gears. The omnipresent red glow that lights everything completes the scene and you know that you're in the land of the human's Hero of Time. The Land of Heat and Clockwork. Dave's crucible. With a start, you realize you're dreaming and you scramble to your feet. You look down and you're in your Maid outfit. Behind you beat two glorious wings. A grin splits your face and you start them beating, thrumming out your own bass line in this strange world. As your rise, you look below you and find that the platform you woke on to be a massive gear. On all sides you're surrounded by the walls of a wide canyon. And yet, your first instinct is not to flee into the waiting skies but rather to explore this canyon. So you dip your body and adjust your flutter. You're off to dream this dream, plumb its depths and find all its hidden nooks and crannies. You're five sweeps old again and in for a world of adventure.

\-- 

It's light when you wake and you've woken rested. Your eyes open and your fingers curl reflexively. You find them tangled in thick black curls. As your body checks in with your mind you realize

\--

your legs are intertwined with his and he's rested on your shoulder. Your arm is wrapped around him and his hip is warm against your palm. You're fit together like the teeth of a gear, comfortable and perfect. An arm of his is hugged across your body, tangled in your hair. Reflexively, 

\--

her free hand comes up as her eyes open and closes around your tangled fingers. 

\--  
Your night had been filled with half-remembered moments and you barely remember what it's like to dream. You focus on him and his eyes are heavy-lidded with sleep and you don't even care because you're lost. 

The hand at his hip 

\--

traces an idle circle, running over scarred flesh and you don't so much flinch as tighten your grasp on her. 

\--

Your name is Aradia Megido and you have no idea what you're doing anymore.

\--

Your name is Dave Strider. 

Ditto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited to add a scene because I'm an idiot that writes at 2am and forgot to include it.


	9. Interlude 2: ==> Karkat: Make nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at an indeterminate time post-christmas

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling apocalypseArisen [AA]

CG: NOT THAT I GIVE TWO SHITS BUT TEREZI SUGGESTED AT TOOTH-POINT THAT I SHOULD ASK YOU HOW YOUR FUCKED UP MOIRALLEGIANCE WITH THE HUMAN IS GOING.  
AA: what.   
CG: OR IS A MATESPRITSHIP. FUCK IF I KNOW BETWEEN THE TWO OF YOU ANYMORE  
AA: ok, 1. we are not in a relationship 2. dave is a human  
AA: and im pretty sure he holds a fairly dim view of troll romance in any case  
CG: YEAH WHATEVER LIKE HIS INPUT MATTERS  
CG: YOU’RE THE TROLL AND WE’RE BASICALLY HARDWIRED INTO THESE QUADRANTS SO YOU MIGHT WANT TO FUCKING DECIDE WHICH ONE YOU WANT HIM IN  
CG: BEFORE HE TURNS INTO EVEN MORE OF A COLOSSAL DOUCHEBAG AND DITCHES YOU  
AA: maybe you are hardwired to need quadrants  
AA: although giving standing evidence i think you have more likely simply indoctrinated yourself into believing such with a childhood of unbelieably shitty romcoms  
AA: i do not share your pre-occupation with alternian customs and happen to just let relationships with humans happen as they may  
CG: OH FOR FUCKS SAKE YOU’VE ALREADY BEEN IN RELATIONSHIP WITH THE FEEBLE THINGS?  
CG: DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA THE KIND OF SECURITY RISK YOU POSE WITH THAT? WE HAVE NO GODDAMN FUCKING IDEA OF HOW THESE ILLUSIONS WORK OR WHAT THEY COVER.  
CG: NEVERMIND THAT I SEEM TO BE THE ONLY ONE INTERESTED IN MAINTAINING THE CULTURAL TOUCHSTONES OF OUR PEOPLE  
CG: WHILE THE REST OF YOU WITLESS NOOKLICKERS ARE HAPPY TO TRAMPLE ALL OVER THEM LIKE FUCKING MILKBEASTS ON A STAMPEDE  
CG: OH LOOK, I BELIEVE I’VE FOUND KISMESITUDE. IT HAS A HEAPING PILE OF DUNG SMEARED ALL OVER IT  
CG: YOU KNOW THAT CULTURAL ICON OF OUR PEOPLE? THAT THING NECESSARY FOR REPRODUCTION?  
AA: jesus christ karkat when will you get over it  
AA: alternia is gone  
AA: our race is doomed  
AA: we do not even have a mother grub anymore  
AA: and while i mourn all these things IN MY OWN WAY i refuse to be tied down by them  
AA: and i fucking resent the implication that i have forgotten any of it  
CG: YEAH FUCK THAT NOISE  
CG: THERE’S NOTHING TO GET OVER  
CG: WE CREATED THIS UNIVERSE AND DESPITE THAT IT DOESN’T FUCKING GIVE US ALTERNIA BACK?  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SHIT. IT’S LIKE ITS RUBBING OUR INITIAL FAILURE IN OUR FACES.  
AA: ...oh my god you still blame yourself  
CG: OF FUCKING COURSE I DO. WHAT PART OF MY INFINITE SPIRAL OF INCANDESCENT SELF-LOATHING HAVE YOU MISSED OVER THE PAST DECADE  
CG: WE MADE THIS UNIVERSE AND THERE WILL BE SOME KIND OF WAY OF BRINGING ALTERNIA AND EVERYONE BACK  
CG: AND YOU LOT ARE WELCOME TO FUCKING HELP OR NOT AS YOU PLEASE  
CG: BUT I WILL WORK MYSELF DOWN TO MY FUCKING MUTANT BONES DECIPHERING THIS FUCKING UNIVERSE IF ITS THE LAST GODDAMN THING I DO AND HEY YOU KNOW WHAT? IT VERY WELL MAY BE.  
AA: that is why you are with jade. you are not just helping her with experiments. you are running your own on the fabric of the universe.  
CG: DING DING DING GIVE THE GRUB A PRIZE  
AA: i have underestimated you karkrab  
AA: and that’s R-------EELY SW-EET of you  
AA: but we’re not coming back  karkitty  
AA: :33 < as much as i would love that  
AA: :33 < we are nefur coming back  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK MEGIDO  
AA: D --> though your struggle to unravel the secrets of your universe is valiant and you cause admirable  
AA: D --> we, the dead, will remain in the bubbles  
CG: WHAT THE EVER LOVING FUCK. IF YOU’RE TRYING TO CREEP ME OUT HERE YOU’RE FUCKING SUCCEEDING. ALSO, NOT COOL.  
AA: aradia’s not here right noww kar  
AA: wwe’re the dead  
AA: D --> the noble  
AA: :33 < dreaming  
AA: D----EAD!  
CG: RIGHT. THAT’S IT. I’M OUT. I CAN’T TAKE ANY MORE OF THIS INCREDIBLE DELUGE OF PSEUDO-ECTOPLASMIC GENETIC FLUID ALL OVER MY SCREEN. I TRY TO BE NICE AND INQUIRE ABOUT YOU AND DAVE.  
CG: AND FUCK THAT UP SO SPECTACULARLY YOU’RE EITHER MOCKING ME OR CHANNELLING OUR DEAD FRIENDS.  
CG: EITHER WAY, IT’S ON MY HEAD.  
AA: je2u2 chrii2t karkat iit2 not alway2 about you and your fuckup2  
AA: we’re here two tell you keep iit up because even though we cant come back maybe you can ree2tablii2h connectiion wiith the dream bubble2

apocalypseArisen [AA] has ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling apocalypseArisen [AA]

CG: SOLLUX?

apocalypseArisen [AA] is an idle troll! 

carcinoGeneticist [CG] has ceased trolling apocalypseArisen [AA]

apocalypseArisen [AA] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

AA: karkat? sorry, my window closed apparently  
AA: karkat?

carcinoGeneticist [CG] is an idle troll! 


	10. Transition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> where do you go in the after

You’re flat on your stomach, arm half off your bed and peacefully dozing, when your cell goes off. You think real long and hard about ignoring it and presently it goes quiet. Gone to voicemail. Great. You scrabble for the edges of sleep and try to wrap them around you-

And it starts ringing again. Goddammit. You slap at the second-hand POS Ikea sidetable, looking for your cell. Your brain catches up and you realize it’s in your pants, somewhere in your room. Great. Time for the ongoing Adventures of Dave Strider, In Search of Pants. It’s a goddamn travesty how long that show has been running.

Presently, you tug the offending phone out of a pocket and bring it to your ear. 

“Bluh.” 

“Dave! Sorry for waking you, but I need a favour!” The pleading tone in Aradia’s voice wakes up a bit more. 

“A favour this early in the morning? Damn right it’s big.”

“Dave, it’s nine-thirty.”

“Dee-jaaaay.” You enunciate the syllables to get your point across. Or maybe slur. You’re still not awake.

“Sorry sorry, right. But I, no my department, really needs this! We’re hosting a conference and my prof was supposed to bring the last of the handouts on a USB stick this morning. His office is in Austin with you, could you please run it over?”

“Can’t his office just e-mail it?”

“Dave it’s over 2 gigs! Fucking e-mail won’t cut it and none of the staff knows how to use file-sharing sites!” There’s a pause and some voices in the background. “And he says the department will pay courier costs!”

That has your attention. Well, you pretend it does, as if you hadn’t started putting on socks at “favour.” You wonder if you have time for coffee...

“When do you need it by?”

“11:30? I don’t know how long Print Services will take...”

So that’s a no on coffee. “Jesus, you don’t ask much.”

“Sorry! It’s-”

“Good thing for you I’m already heading out the door. Now where’s this office and where the hell are you meeting me?”

\--

Finished relaying the information, you snap the cell closed. 

“Well?” Your professor wrings his hands. At the rate he’s been going, you half expect that he’s started to actually grind at his bones. 

“Yep! Told you he’d do it!” You beam down at him as he releases a sigh of relief.

“Now we can only hope that he arrive on time.”

“Oh please. Dave Strider is always on time.” You’re vaguely offended at the suggestion otherwise. The old man nods and heads off, stating that he’s going to see to the rest of the set up. You’re left with your co-TAs handling the menial paper-sorting. 

The lot of you are in a meeting room in the Humanities building, nice digs than you’re used to. You could fit two TA offices in here, and those hold four TAs in each. There are several stacks of paper arranged on a long central table. Since you’ve got nothing to do for the next hour, you shrug at your fellows and get to work sorting.

It’s mindless labour and it’s not long before questions are being asked.

“So, this Dave person...?”

“Not my boyfriend.” You preempt the question pretty definitively. “Just a friend.”

“Get that a lot, do you?”

“Mm-hmm. I guess it’s not surprising, two people start hanging out more often and people immediately make assumptions.”

“I hear that. And just the smallest sign of affection and people are jumping all over you.”

You blush at that. The last “sign of affection” you shared with Dave involved disentangling yourselves in the quiet of morning. Since then you’ve been pretty... platonic? Still, it’s a good thing you don’t blush easily outside the illusion.

“Oho? Looks like someone has shared more that just something little!”

Or not.

“Like hell! And it’s not like I’d tell you if I did.”

“Mm-hmm. Deny some more.”

\--

Getting the motorbike was probably one of your better ideas ever. It’s not like you use it for being a courier, but the sheer freedom it gives you is the closest thing you’ve gotten to flying since the game ended. The list of things you miss about the game is pretty short, but flying is one of them. 

You’re speeding down Route 290 headed to the university. The wind is in your hair because you’re a goddamn idiot and like to tempt fate. Also you look hella cooler like this. You like to think your reflexes are still good enough to deal with crap coming at you at sixty or seventy miles an hour. And you are doing that, because Dave Strider is never late. 

The trip to Aradia’s prof’s office downtown had been the hairiest, timing wise. Traffic was, as usual, a bitch. But there wasn’t anything you could do about that, other than take side roads, so you didn’t sweat the details. The secretary or whoever had jumped a mile in the air when you’d sprinted into the room. A quick flash of ID to confirm you were who you said you were and bam, you had the package and were off again. You love light packages and a USB that fits into your pocket is pretty well as light as you could get. You still have to wonder why this was the fastest means. Maybe the office had crap upload speed?

In any case you’re more or less on time now, even if you’re riding pretty aggressively. Pretty aggressively meaning you’re passing goddamn everyone in any lane that’s open. The advantages of a bike: faster, cheaper, better on gas and cooler than any car you’d be able to afford. From the corners of your eyes, you can occasionally see kids pressed up against windows as you blow by. Kids – the single most accurate measurement of cool. 

While you’re enjoying the ride and basking in the adulation of pre-adolescents, you notice one of those irritating slowdowns coming up in front of you. Flashing brake lights indicate that things are slowing down, while solid ones would indicate a more serious near-stop. Getting closer, you spot the issue. One 18-wheeler was attempting to pass another and these things are never quick affairs. You check your clock and make a snap call. 

You twist the throttle and accelerate. You lane-change into any available spot and when they start to evaporate, you take a deep breath and ease off the throttle. Then you slip onto the line between lanes and haul back on the reins of time. Cars whip past because thirty miles per hour is still pretty quick when everything else is nearly at a standstill. Part of the reason you’ve slowed down is not to spook goddamn everyone with this stunt. 

The steel canyon between the two trucks is the worst part because you’re acutely aware that these are megaton vehicles who probably wouldn’t register you as you impact into them. But everything’s on the straight and narrow and as you burst from between them, you slam on the acceleration and let go of time. 

You make excellent time to the university, which is only slightly marred by the fact that the place is a goddamn maze. You’ve finally got to stop and ask for directions, smiling blandly at a blushing brunette. Freshmen chicks: next best indicator of cool. 

Finally you pull up in front of the building and Aradia is already rushing down the steps towards you. You barely managed to drop the kickstand before she’s thrown herself at you in a hug.

“Ohh thank you thank you thank you Dave! I really didn’t want this conference to be a disaster and even though it’s not my fault I feel bad for the old man it’s his first and he’s starting to lose it a bit and-”

“Whoa junior. Breathe.” You gently remove Aradia from you, pushing her back at the waist, your hands lingering only slightly. You make a show of patting yourself down, just to be an ass and Aradia stares at you with hands on her hips, clearly not buying it. You hand over the stick with a wry smile.

“Grab some parking, I’ve got the department card and I’m supposed to use it to buy you lunch as well! Meet here at two?” She calls over her shoulder as she rushes up the stairs again. 

“Yeah, sure.” You call back and remain a bit to admire her form running up the stairs. Not one for skirts anymore, the dress pants are form hugging and let’s be honest, you weren’t going to be able to tear your eyes off dat jiggle anyways. You’d feel like a perv, but that’s nothing new, so you just go with it. You haul the bike around and go looking for some parking.

\--

The next time you leave the building, you’re chatting with your coworkers and taking the stairs at a much more leisurely pace. Which is good, because that was a remarkable bout of running around. The conference was proceeding smoothly, but since there was really nothing that interested you, you wouldn’t be expected to be back until around 6:30 for the clean-ups. Your co-workers thought you must be crazy to miss all the networking opportunities, but you admit those were never your strong suit.

You take a quick look around for Dave and spot him immediately. He’s reclined on a bench in the sunlight, but that’s not what draws your eye. It’s the way time seems to slow for your companions as they catch sight of who you’re looking at. The universe itself seems to want to a make a spectacle of Dave Strider. It’s not just his shape, or his artful sprawl. Your campus has never been a stranger to crows., but this number must be unheard of. There are dozens of them around him. That’s not what gets you though. It’s the quite frankly eerie way they are just sort of... perched around him. Completely silent and not a single caw voiced. 

You don’t realize it until you approach and the flock (murder?) explodes into flight that they were all faced inwards, heeding him. You are put in mind of consorts and their reverent behaviour. Dave must have noticed your approach because he hauls himself into a sitting position and slides up into a slouch.

“I take it back. You’re not crazy,” your coworker whispers as you approach. She’s eyeing Dave appreciatively and you’ve got to admit, he does make a leather jacket look good. And tight black jeans. You really hadn’t the time before, but now you notice his tousled hair, tight red t-shirt and yeah ok, there’s no way they don’t think you’re not a thing now. You should probably stop staring.

“Hey Dave.”

His voice is a flat monotone when he delivers the ever-so-Strider, “’Sup.”

You make some quick introductions and Dave commits to some handshakes, which is nice. For a moment there you thought he’d be too cool for them and had an eye roll ready in the wings. For some reason Dave seems... not tense, but certainly uncomfortable in these circumstances. He commits to the handshakes like they’re some kind of social contract he’s obligated to carry out. Of course, he covers this under a veil of cool and distance indifference.

“So, you said something about lunch? The bike’s not far.” He points to the east and you nod.

“Sure, any idea where you’d like to go?”

“Your town ‘Radia, your call.”

You chat idly for the few hundred feet to Dave’s bike as your coworkers join you. They offer suggestions as well, envious as they’re stuck with conference food. When you arrive, one comments,

“A motorbike. Of course he rides a motorbike.” The two share a knowing glance. You have to really, really try not to smack a head off. Dave, thankfully, takes this all in stride and just mounts the bike and you suddenly wish you’d chosen a different turn of phrase than “mount.” He pats the rear seat ironically and in a voice completely not his own says,

“Come on sweetie, I’m getting hungry.”

Him, you do smack. It’s satisfying in a meaty, materialistic way.

\--

As the bike roars to life, a coworker mentions helmets and you shrug it off. It’s not like they were going to have a great opinion of you anyways, so you just make a smart remark about neither of your heads fitting. From the corner of your eye, you see Aradia chuckle and shake her head in a way that emphasizes the circles of her ram’s horns. Then she’s climbed on behind you and her arms are around your waist. As her breasts push against you, you suppress a shiver and flip the kickstand. The bike takes a second to get used to with her weight on it, but it ain’t your first time at the rodeo.

“So where we headed?” you say over your shoulder before the noise gets too loud.

“Take this exit here.” Her voice is right in your ear and the heat of her breath is enough to set your fine hairs standing straight up. 

Your roar out of the university and Aradia rests her face on your shoulder to give directions. The position makes sense, but it makes you vaugely uncomfortable. Gee whiz Mister Strider, why’s that? Well little Billy when a man and a hot alien chick dance around each other like fucking humming birds trying to have sloppy makeouts in mid-air... 

It’s only when you hit a main stretch and you open the throttle that Aradia’s grip slackens. She straightens and there’s a twist of movement that in the side mirrors you can tell means she’s tossed her hair back. The thick black mane wafts slightly in the wind. Unfortunately you can’t go fast enough here to really get it streaming, but you suspect that’s for the best. You don’t want to drop her back looking like you’d pulled into a motel instead of a restaurant. But a quick adjust of mirrors confirms yes, she’s smiling. Eyes shut and head above yours, she’s letting the wind take her away. Her arms come away from your waist entirely to be held out, palms out like a benediction. You suddenly want to ditch the restaurant and take her out on the road, just to see her like this more.

But you’re really hungry and hey, free meal. So when her hand comes up and points at a turn, you pull into the indicated lot and park. You make for an Olive Garden before she’s got you by the collar and is pulling you to a less shit joint. Food’s good, you guess, but you’re here on account of it’s free and you were doing a favour. Can’t say you hate how things turned out. Aradia’s department is picking up the tab and you have no problem ordering a steak. No wait, you can fry up a pretty decent steak. Lobster. Fuck yeah. Delicious fancy crab will be yours.

“So Dave, who are you going to see first?” 

You’d say it was unexpected, the way the conversation turns to your promises to visit your friends, but you’ve been expecting this. Counting on it, really. Morally, you’re not the strongest person in the world and you could use a kick in the ass or two. You explain that you’re taking Rose up on her offer first because you know, a trip to a half-ass psychologist is better than none at all. That turns to how you’re going to pay for it and you have to smirk. Striders have their ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This dragged on and then hit a writing block. So you get two chapters and a sudden stop.


	11. Absence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> where does your mind go when you're all alone

Dave has you look after his apartment while he’s gone. It’s not a huge favour, since half your time is spent at your prof’s office and Dave’s place, while not in walking distance per se, makes a decent enough place to crash on days you have to be in Austin. All in all, you find yourself there about half the week. You spend your time there on the couch, as his chair is uncomfortably small for you. In the background you play music that you find around the house. Dave leaves CDs around like some people leave socks: why the hell is there one on a stool in the kitchen?

He’s taken his laptop with him, but you’ve long since bought your own. The note he left with his wireless’ password was mildly confusing (plushpuppetrumptheatre) but it worked, so you shrugged and went on your way. You leave the place more or less the way you find it, mess and all, save for the fridge. That, you drain of much of his beer (as agreed, in payment for your services) and replace it with leftovers. Dave’s not a bad cook, but he only ever seems to make food on a case by case basis and his fridge is often bare. You’re used to cooking for whole sites, so your concept of a meal involves pots larger than your head. 

By the time you’re done, the fridge is full of pots and tupperware and you’ve left your mark. You spend your nights there crashed on Dave’s bed fruitlessly hoping that the proximity to at least his smells will spin some kind of dream. It doesn’t and you’re left in the bare, painful white but now with whispers of all kinds lancing through you. Ever since you’d torn Karkat a new one, it had been like this. You wish they were the ghosts of your past, thousands of pale, muttering companions. Ghosts were familiar to you and you could deal with, talk to. Teasing, knowing whispers in your non-dreams that left you exhausted were not things you were accustomed to dealing with. Alcohol took the edge off, but your metabolism processed it too quickly and you didn’t want to rob Dave wholesale of his stuff.

When Dave lets you know he’ll be staying over a bit longer with Rose, you feel unexpected disappointment. It’s not like you had anything planned for when he got back, but the feeling’s there all the same. So long as his “psych visit” is going well... Oh come the fuck on Megido, you’ve got other things to worry about. You turn your attention back to the Jordan papers in front of you.

\--

By the time you leave Rose’s you’ve pretty well had enough pseudo-psychoanalysis to last you a lifetime. Which, if you’re honest, means you’re probably going to chat her up once you get back online. Before you’d left the Lalonde-Maryam household, you’d checked your schedule, and it looks like you’ll be able to make a shift at the club tonight. You blow a few dollars on a roaming call and tell the bossman you’ll be in, complete with some fresh new samples.

To be fair, this wasn’t just a psych visit. Remembering how well the two of you had played together, Kanaya encouraged the both of you to have several more jams. Luckily your laptop had a basic mixing suite installed on it and after several hours you manage to hash something out that Rose calls passable and Kanaya deems “intriguing.” Hold the fucking presses and call the Grammy’s, we’ve got the hottest new thing here.

You’ll see how it plays in the club, which you figure is what will pass as a neutral reaction. Then again, considering those fuckers’ tastes, maybe that’s not the best of ideas. You mull it over on the flight, while reading one of Rose’s ventures into literature, Complacency of the Learned. It’s not quite as bad as banging your head into a wall, if only because after two hours, you’ve made a dent in the book. But godDAMN that woman loves her words. 

On a whim, you call up Aradia after you land and tell her to meet you at the club with your keys. It saves time, you get to pay her back proper-like and you get a neutral reaction oh who are you kidding she’s going to love anything by you and Rose. The woman is deathly loyal to her friends and you’re pretty sure you could do a mix that consisted of cats in heat and she’d love it.

Hang on, note to self...

\--

Dave’s call comes at probably the best possible time. You’ve finally compiled a rough draft of a report on the Jordan dig and everything confirms that there’s more out there. It should be cake to convince the Jordanian authorities (oh, and your boss) to go back. Besides that though, you’re mentally exhausted but thrumming with energy. You figure a night in the club dancing to DJ Knightstyles sick beats (ok, you still have to giggle at that) is a great way to get to it.

You vaguely remember the way there and only get slightly lost, which turns out to be ok because Dave has apparently only just finished setting up. When he sees your quite unmistakeable form he gives a cool nod across the room, signifying “Sup.” You try making your way across but the floor fills up astonishingly quickly once he starts spinning. And unfortunately it’s the garbage music first. You make a face and head to the bar. The huge bartender nods in recognition and shouts over the din,

“No freebies yet, chil’. You gonna have to pay up.”

You mock pout and slap a ten on the table. “Gimme something hard.”

He nods and seconds later you’ve got something iridescent green to sip on. “So you an’ Strider go off on a little lovebird vacation?”

You make to slap him and he flinches away, laughing. “Nah, it was only him. Went and visited, ah, family up in New York.”

“Yeah? Shit, didn’t know he had any.”

“Sister.” You take a big sip and watch the dance floor.

“Huh. A Bro and a Sis? Never talked ‘bout her.”

“He ever talk about his Bro?”

“Aha. Yeah, I see.”

Pounding back the drink, you make half-hearted moves on the dance floor as the club gets going, mostly in an effort to reach Dave’s booth. It takes several minutes and brushing off several unwanted advances, but you’re eventually there. You hop up to the divider and hang over it. Dave looks up and gives a wry smile. He’s pointedly looking you in the eyes and not in the cleavage.

“Enjoying yourself yet?”

“Haha yeah. Great music, cheap alcohol and all the grabby hands I can smack away. But no seriously, when does the good stuff start.” It’s less a question and more of a demand.

“Sorry babe, bossman’s being pretty strict about timing tonight. Mostly on account of me leaving him high and dry like a beached whale for a week and half. Turns out the sound guy is a pretty fucking awful DJ.”

You try to put the “babe” out of your mind and make a face. Dave continues, “But hey, thanks for watching the place. If you want, go grab us some drinks off my tab and come around back here. I’ve got some stuff you might like that I can’t play club-side.”

Intrigued, you go off and grab some beers from the bartender whose name you realize you still haven’t got. When you get around to the walled off stage that serves as Dave’s booth, he opens a little fence-door thing for you. He takes a beer and hands you his iPod and some headphones. The massive things are awkward enough and worse to fit around your horns. He shrugs halfheartedly, apologetic. You sink down beside him, not wanting to draw attention to yourself and turn the iPod back on. A playlist is highlighted, and it scrolls by, “Dave and Rose Messing Around with Music Like Kids in a Musical Playpen I Mean Shit, Notes Be Everywhere Like Balls in a Pit.”

A shake of your head and you cue the playlist. It’s all just numbers right now; you figure they hadn’t gotten around to titling them. Then the first quavering notes of Rose violin cut through the noise of the club, like a chainsaw through beef. Damn. Those are some nice headphones. 

You close your eyes as the music fills your ears, a quietly confident piece that builds slowly. It meanders like a walk along a twisting mountain path, and you can almost feel the mist on your face. At the crescendo there is a boneshaking _UNCE_ as Dave’s bass kicks in that starts you from your quietude. It was, apparently, just to get your attention, because the rest of the track continues with Rose’s excellent playing at the fore and Dave’s beats providing a soft counterpoint in the background. The violin trails off and the unces swell into the second track. Which is apparently Dave throwing down. Whereas the first track reminds you of a walk to the ocean to watch it crash into the rocks of the shore this one is almost a club track. It takes you a second and then a screech of a violin like car tires tips you off: it’s Dave on his bike, couriering. As Rose provides counterpoint in this one, you have to smile at how well the twins tell a story with music alone.

You get lost in the tracks for hours. Its no wonder that Dave took extra time there, if they were this productive. You can’t say that you like them all, but you get the feeling this is very much a dump of all their content, nothing refined. For those hours, you’re quite happy to be sat down in the corner of Dave’s booth, club thrumming around you, lost in his music. Occasionally, he’ll get more drinks brought to the bar and pass down a bottle. You don’t protest, you know he needs to keep his faculties about him and can’t drink too much. 

You’re almost done the playlist, when Dave’s hand alights on your shoulder. Unconsciously, you nuzzle into it, the current track being a lazing, skipping beat. Then panickedly, you realize what you’re doing as Dave’s hand curls up and around to the back of your neck and gives a soft scratch. An involuntary shiver wracks you. You look up at him and find him looking down at you from the corner of his eyes. In the clubs’ flashing lights you can see the ruby red of his eyes and suddenly there’s a beat that has nothing to do with either the club or the iPod. His fingers trace a soft pattern through the thicket of your hair and the beat quickens. The worst (best?) part is, you have no idea if it’s his or yours. Then he’s stopped and taps your shoulder. 

“School’s in.”

The beat drops and you scramble dizzily to your feet.

\--

Christ in heaven she’s beautiful. 

Aradia almost leaped out of your booth as your music came on, barely remembering to toss your iPod and headphones back. It’s easy to keep track of her progress on the floor, candy-corn horns twirling about. You see her realize that this is more of you and Rose messing about around the same time as a raucous “aw shieeeet” lifts from the crowd as the violin cuts through your arrangement. More regulars pour in, people with something passing for taste and skills on the dance floor.

You nod your head to the beat and go about setting up a tracklist for the night. You have to admit, jamming with Rose was hella fun. You’re going to have to do it again. Hell, some practice, some syncing, you might want to submit this shit to some record companies again. And you still have no idea if your thanks is getting through to Aradia. 

At least, you realize, she’s enjoying herself. There’s a grin on her face that reaches her heavy-lidded eyes. And when they reach yours, garnets set in gold, you find yourself nodding to a beat that isn’t playing right now. Less of a beat, and more of a tick.

Your eyes go wide with realization and remembrance of your dreams. Aw hell. Your heart thuds in your chest, an arrhythmic pulse that runs against the tock of hers and completely fucks with your sense of the music. You realize it’s been less than a second and she’s about to end a turn. You break eye contact and slap one hand to your headphones and dial up your feed, trying to reassert rhythm in some part of your life. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You don’t even know why you’re panicking, you were all cuddly before, no problem. What the fuck set you off this time, Strider?

Eventually the beat reasserts itself in your consciousness and you feel ready to look up. You find her candy-corn horns at the bar taking a break and chatting up Jermaine. When she turns and looks at you, you manage to not flinch. She raises a cup of bright green liquid in a toast and you return it with the shitty bottle of beer you have. Yep, that’s more like it. The pair of you, classy motherfuckers. The next track is coming up and you’re pretty proud of this one, so you motion her onto the floor. Actually, you know what? You quickly scrounge and hitch up a mic. You don’t do this shit often (read: ever), but fuck it. Time to make up for a week gone and show Aradia a good time.

With massive steps, you stride up onto your table and then onto the divider. The track change is coming up and you judge your moment. A violin draws a deep note and you raise one hand for the spotlight

“Hey hey party goers the floor looks kinda empty. I can see the fucking ground between some of you. It is my personal and esteemed recommendation that you get your fly asses on it right now before...”

the beat drops, and you hop backwards back into your booth. The bass shudders the club and the answering cheer almost puts a grin on your face. But you keep your cool on, and lead everyone through the night, spinning the beats like a lighthouse. The place rocks, shudders and quakes with the sound and feel of a hundred disparate bodies dancing and living it up. It’s a fervent, hectic mess and you spin for all you’re worth trying to keep them sated. But it’s all worth it when at the end of the night a stumbling Aradia grabs you in a crushing hug.

“That was amazing! You and Rose need to do more stuff like this. And standing up on the divider like that! So cool!”

“Damn, ‘Radia, gonna make me blush.” Her giggle is more than slightly tipsy and you have to wonder how much she drank. As the pair of you stumble on out, she holds her stomach and you get a sinking feeling.

“Oog. Probably should have had something to eat before all that.” Ah. That would do it too. You help her along, shooshing her complaints of hunger and stroking her back. 

“There’s an all night burger joint by my place, we’ll get you something there.”

“Ooh, Mister Strider, taking me home? How daaaring.” She giggles some more and yeah, that’s a blush on your face. Fuck. “Awww he’s bluuushing.”

She pokes at your cheek teasingly. You give her A Look and that only sets her off more. In retaliation, you slip out from under her arm and she tumbles to the side with a yelp. This turns out to be a terrible idea because she loses balances and flails out. She catches on to you, but she weighs three hundred plus and you’re like, one-eighty, max. The pair of you collapse into a heap on the sidewalk. Of course, Aradia find this fucking hilarious and her laugh fills the night air like a ringing bell. You prop yourself up above her and glare down. Your glasses slide down a bit, unbalanced and she goes quiet.

“Oh.” Her mouth perfectly forms the shape of the sound as your lock eyes again. In the distance, you can hearing the steady tick of a clock and in your head your hear your own heart. She reaches up and the pounding increases. Vaguely, you think the ticking does too. You can see her throat clench as she swallows and delicately takes hold of your glasses. And then gently, she adjusts them and slides them back up your nose.

“Thank you.” The words are whispered and so heartfelt you think you could cry. Then you realize they’re yours, but the damage is already done and she’s smiling, a radiant thing broken free of a body of ash and obsidian. You spend a moment longer looking like idiots on the sidewalk, and then you rock to your feet and give her a hand up. You have to haul back on your heels, but never let it be said that Dave Strider is anything less than a gentleman. As you make your way to the burger grill, her arm loops through yours, only partly to steady herself. The rest of the journey is passed in companionable silence, until you reach the grill, where you argue over toppings and side orders.

Not like it matters, because once you get back to your apartment, it looks like the cook just did what he wanted with the fucking things, but as good as it tastes, you don’t give a shit. It’s greasy and cheesy and goddamn you’re not sure you’ve tasted better in your life. You collapse against the couch and pat your full stomach. Aradia’s already splayed out in a corner of the couch, having devoured her food like a goddamn shark. Natural predators and all that. Her breathing low and heavy, and you’re pretty sure she’s asleep. That is, until one arm wraps around you and pulls you onto her. You barely give a squawk of surprise.

It’s not like you fight her, but you roll with her pull to end up more comfortable. She doesn’t protest and from the murmurs, she’s probably half asleep. You end up with your head rested on her chest, just above her massive rack, with one arm off the side of the couch. You manage to snake the other around her neck to avoid getting it smooshed. What the hell Strider. You probably should have avoided that, you goddamn perv. Her chest heaves in a sigh and, as it moves your diaphragm, you breath in as well. The two of you are sweaty, greasy messes, but you’re not foul, not yet. In fact, she smells faintly of spices and salts, an alien scent you can’t place. Then one of her arms curls around your waist and she nuzzles the top of your head.

“Mine.” She says sleepily. You blink once or twice. 

“Uh. What?” 

No response. Goddammit, she’s passed out now. You stay still for a while and try to sort out the mess you’ve gotten yourself into. Of course, you fail miserably. Instead, you try to focus on the fact that you’re again sleeping with a gorgeous fucking alien demigoddess. You’d feel better about this if you had any idea of what the fuck was going on beyond alcohol and possibly hormones run amok. For all you know, this is some troll friendship thing and you really don’t want to fuck up anything with this woman. 

Attempts at actually sleeping are a goddamn hash; you’re too aware of her heat, her breasts and the soft curve of her lips. So you reach out and find your phone and log in to Pesterchum to try and find some help. It being three in the morning, there is none. Well. Ok, one person but you’re not sure this is going to be of any “help”

\-- turntechgodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]!

TG: so hey, what the fuck is up when a troll grabs you up, says “mine” and then passes out on the couch.  
CG: OH GODDAMIT I DO NOT WANT TO FUCKING DEAL WITH YOUR NOOKSNIFFING QUADRANT CLUSTERFUCK OF PAN-GALACTIC PROPORTIONS  
TG: quadrants. that’s that troll romance shit, yeah?  
CG: YES YOU UNBELIEVABLE DOUCHEBULGE. HAVING LIVED WITH US FOR THREE YEARS YOU’D THINK YOU’D HAVE PICKED UP ON THAT  
CG: OH WAIT THAT’D REQUIRE THINKING. SOMETHING YOUR PATHETICALLY SHRIVELLED PAN IS PROBABLY INCAPABLE OF DOING  
CG ON ACCOUNT OF IT HAVING WITHERED FROM TERMINAL STUPIDITY  
TG: karkles look its three in the fucking morning and im stuck between troll tits  
TG: not like im in prime thinking mode here  
CG: OH YOU POOR FUCKING WRIGGLER. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO COME OVER THERE AND SLAP YOUR SHIT BETTER?  
CG: ALSO, DON’T CARE, TOO MUCH FUCKING INFORMATION, AND FUCK YOU.  
TG: man i am just trying to understand what the fuck is going on here   
CG: YEP. WE ARE OFFICIALLY IN IDONOTGIVEAFUCKVILLE.   
TG: i am straight up horrible at romance shit to start with  
TG: we’re talking a dog being asked to paint best youre gonna get is a fucking rainbow mess on a canvas and a dirty fucking dog  
TG: assuming it doesn’t just sorta it there and look at you stupidly  
CG: HOLY FUCK A METAPHOR OUT OF STRIDER’S MOUTH THAT ACTUALLY MAKES SENSE. STOP THE FUCKING PRESSES.  
CG: BECAUSE THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT YOU FUCKING LOOK LIKE ALL THE GODDAMN TIME AROUND MEGIDO.  
TG: and thats just with one fucking quadrant let alone your fucking troll mess  
TG: wait what  
TG: so youre saying we are romancing each other  
CG: GODDAMN FUCKING SHITBALLS ARE YOU KIDDING ME YOU CANNOT ACTUALLY BE THIS DENSE.  
CG: I WOULD DISBELIEVE THE SHIT THAT IS BOBBING IN FRONT OF MY EYES LIKE A FLOATER IN SEPTIC TANK ASIDE FROM THE RANK SMELL THAT PERMEATES EXISTANCE.  
CG: THAT SMELL IS THE INCREDIBLE DOUCHBAGGERY THAT IS DAVID STRIDER ESQ.  
TG: and by douchebaggery you mean awesomeness yeah  
TG: look karkles, for once in my goddamn life i am playing you straight  
TG: i honestly just want some advice on troll romance from the master  
CG: ...  
TG: not even remotely pulling your chain, dong, bulge, whatever  
CG: ALRIGHT STRIDER  
CG: ON THE REMOTE, MULTIVERSE-IMPLODING CHANCE THAT YOU ARE NOT BEING A SPHINCTER LICKING DOUCHE, WHICH I STILL HOLD AT EVEN ODDS HERE  
CG: I WILL GIVE YOU THE FOLLOWING ADVICE  
TG: awesome  
TG: im all ears karkles baby  
CG: FIGURE IT OUT YOURSELF  
TG: what the fuck karkat  
TG: goddamn you are one useless, grudge-holding motherfucker you know that  
CG: I AM BEING COMPLETELY SERIOUS  
CG: THE VILE IMPLICATION THAT I AM COMPLETELY FUCKING ABOVEBOARD NOT REVEALS ONLY THAT YOU ARE AN UNTRUSTING, SPOOGE-DRIBBLING NUTSACK OF A DOUCHE  
TG: seriously, spooge?  
CG: SHUT THE EVER LOVING FUCK UP STRIDER, ITS LATE  
CG: MY POINT IS  
CG: AND I HOPE YOU’VE TUNED YOUR SHRIVELLED AURAL RECEPTICALS FOR THIS ONE BECAUSE IT’S GOING TO BE THE BEST GODDAMN ADVICE YOU’VE GOTTEN IN YOUR ENTIRE MISERABLE, HORRORTERROR-FORSAKEN EXISTANCE  
CG: WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU AND MEGIDO ARE DOING IT ISN’T TROLL ROMANCE  
CG: YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN  
CG: THERE, THAT’S MY ADVICE TO YOU. YOU PHENOMENALLY UNGRATEFUL PIECE OF SHIT

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] is an idle chum!

Right. So you’re on your own, stuck in an overly complicated cross-species clusterfuck when your own experience with romance involves break-ups and one night stands. No biggie.

\--

Your dreams are dark and warm and you ride thermals that waft of off endless lava. There are no whispers.


	12. terrible ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> too far too fast, careful now, you're gonna get burned

You’re coming to realize that the John who’s come to visit, the John you saw over Christmas, is not the John who won the game. This John isn’t just older, taller and beefier. He’s calmer, less likely to pull a prank for no goddamn reason. You’re disappointed, really. You can still rile him up, but the chances of hysterical vengeance are markedly lower.

That doesn’t stop him from suggesting that instead of visiting you two do a road trip. You don’t have to count the number of exclamation points after that statement. 

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]!

EB: dude, let’s do a road trip!!!!!!!!   
TG: awesome  
TG: gratz on the promotion btw  
TG: vice-principal or whatever can pay my rent while we’re off checking out the world’s hugest ball of navel lint or some shit   
EB: ?   
TG: get any bonuses with that?  
TG: oh miss johnson, report to my office with your fine ass et cetera et cetera   
EB: i didn’t... oh.  
EB: ok, yeah, good point   
TG: aw no man  
TG: say it ain’t so  
TG: had my heart set on that roadtrip  
TG: like a kid at christmas, waiting for that bike he’s been waiting on for years  
TG: ten years old, never had one  
TG: why’d you have to go and crush me like that   
EB: well fine, i still have this sweet new car  
EB: hey texas still has all those old drive-in movie theatres right?  
EB: we could totally catch a film on one of those   
TG: fuck yes  
TG: i don’t hate this idea egbert  
TG: the irony’s speaking to me like barry white over a glass of fine red wine  
TG: two men pull in to the lot, fly ride bumpin’ like it’s 1979  
TG: the lights dim, the crowd hushs, the movie begins  
TG: who knows where lonely hands may end up in?   
EB: ...dude   
TG: yeah ok wow got a bit uncomfortable there for my own taste  
TG: let’s call that one a tie for gay chicken and invite aradia   
EB: ewwww no  
EB: I don’t want you two making out in the back of my car   
TG: ...  
TG: fuck me, i goddamn walked into that didn’t i   
EB: :D

This isn’t the John you knew. But sometimes he still goes and does shit like that.

\--

It’s patently absurd, but if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re just a bit jealous of John. His camaraderie with Dave is easy and is based out of a shared youth that you were never a part of; one that you can’t even really conceptualize because yours had been so different. While they sent each other ironic and overthought presents you were communing with the dead. While they played gay chicken, someone who could have been your matesprit annihilated you and your hive while under mind control. Your childhood was slightly more complicated. You envy the ease of their friendship.

You spend more time with Dave than any of the other survivors, but you don’t think you know him any better for it. Oh sure, you’re more comfortable together, but you both say things that surprise the other. There are moments when you have no idea why he just tossed a towel onto your head, or patted it or flung a beer bottle out the window into the street. You don’t know why some things make him laugh or clam up, although you’re slowly teasing details from him. Still so much is a surprise to you. 

You suddenly wonder why this is a bad thing.

John’s due in three days, and when you have the time for it, you watch Dave rush around like a sprite with his head cut off, trying to make money, clean the apartment, make more money, figure out what the hell they’re going to do down here and then try to make more money. He gets desperate enough to ask you for ideas. You’ve a slightly better idea of the tourist traps around, even though he’s lived here for most of his life. When you suggest a drive-in movie theatre he goes pale, freckles disappearing in the whitening of his skin. You’re confused when he demands a chaperone. 

You have to look the word up and giggle and snort for a solid five minutes once you do.

\--

Ok yeah, so the drive-in was a fucking terrible idea.

\--

So yeah, the drive-in? Fucking hilarious.

\--

Holy crap, you’re tired. Egderp really took it out of you. Nevermind that your bosses called you in on the last day of his visit and while you regard the dwindling numbers of your account, John slaps you on the back and says he’ll be ok for the day while you take care of business. He starts thumbing through your albums, and you only have time for a flash of irritation before you start out the door.

As an apology, you take him with you to the club. It’s not his kind of music, but you’ll see about spinning some things he won’t hate. Out of habit, Aradia’s waiting for you and you breathe a sort of sigh of relief. A whispered word to the side and John’s in the right hands. When he starts to look uncomfortable by the bar, she swings him onto the dance floor and makes silly with him. When you see his face crack into that goofy goddamn grin, you know the night’s a success.

Back at your place, he’s apparently already packed, and one Rockstar later, declares himself ready for the first leg of the journey. Wants to be in New Mexico by the next night. You snort and wish him well, promising to bend time a little to let him achieve that (you can’t). Aradia says her goodbyes with you on the front steps of your apartment building and watches him drive off. Then she’s saying goodnight to you (you don’t want to) and heading off (you wish she wouldn’t). 

And that’s it. You’re done having to put a brave face on. You can go home and crash, sleep the sleep of the dead (and not have to see the dead in your sleep).

\--

Dave is dragging his feet climbing the stairs outside his apartment building and when he opens the door he basically staggers in. As the door shuts, you catch a glimpse of him spearing the stairs with a glare best described as resentful. A hand lifts, reaches out and grabs a hold of the banister. The door shuts, but you can almost imagine how his feet feel like concrete blocks as he starts the five floor trudge to his home. In your mind’s eye, you can see see the leaden tread of a man overworked and who thinks himself under-loved. He has to haul himself up the stairs, one step at a time and there are a great many steps.

So maybe you’re not surprised when you go up to the door and crack it to peer through. Maybe it’s not a surprise when you don’t even see him make it to the first landing between the slats of the stairs before he leans against the wall for a rest. Perhaps somewhere out there, there’s someone actually caught off guard when you slip into the building and pad up the stairs after him. Two hundred and fifty pounds and nary a sound. The only person who’s surprised when you gather him up in your arms is Dave.

A hard start, a half twist and he’s nearly out of your grip before he realizes what’s going on. One arm still keeps him distant from you as you start your ascent carrying him. _Holy crap, he is so light. Does he have hollow bones or something?_

“What, you’re gonna carry me across the threshold? I think we may have skipped a step or two along the way. Kan’s gonna be pissed that she missed the chance to design all the clothing for the wedding.” 

You’re not sure what to say to that, so you shrug. The motion causes him to grip at your shirt desperately, like he’s going to fall off. Like you’d let him. You’ve carried kicking mules in a desert, one flailing Strider’s nothing. 

“Srsly Megido, what up? Decide that you couldn’t go to bed without tucking me in? Look at this mama bird, too fuckin’ sweet.”

You have to give him a small smile for that and shake your head. “Nah. Just couldn’t conscience seeing a coolkid so pitiful.”

He snorts and slowly the tension and flight instinct goes out of him. He eases into your hold around the fourth floor. His head lolls to the side and finds a comfortable spot on your shoulder. He’s not quite asleep when you get to his door. Awake enough, at least, to dig for his keys and try to reach for the doorknob. But you’re too high up, and you have to let him down. He sways when his feet touch down, so your hands don’t leave his shoulders. 

The locks clack and the door swings open. Dave Strider drags himself inside and hesitates. He looks over his shoulder and asks,

“You comin’ in?”

There’s a skip in the even beat of your heart. It’s getting late. By all rights you should get home. Even if you don’t have much to do tomorrow. You can still catch the bus now and grab plenty of sleep. It’s getting late and the sensible, safe thing to do would be to say “Thanks, but I’ve got to get home.” Instead,

“Thanks,” And you step inside

Dave makes it to the couch and more or less collapses into it, his gangly form sprawled every which way. There’s a soft thud as his head bounces off the back of it. You kick off your shoes and make your way to the kitchen. 

“Get us a beer, eh?”

“Dave, you’re about to pass out as it is.”

“That’s why I said a beer. One, between the two of us.”

“Not afraid of cooties?”

“Aliens don’t have cooties.”

“You’re too sweet.”

“Hell, if anything, I should be worried about some little troll wriggler bursting out of my chest, screeing it’s hideously adorable face off.”

He sounds like he’s about to continue, so you pop off the cap of the beer bottle and arc it in his general direction while peering in the fridge. You hear him swear and there’s the sound of a sofa creaking and a human scrabbling. You give him a beat to compose himself, then shut the fridge door and leave the kitchen. He’s managed to sprawl in almost the exact same position and is sipping on the beer. With a smack of his lips and a satisfied sigh he moves incrementally, inviting you to take the space freed up by the movement.

Graceful isn’t a word you’d normally associate with yourself, but in comparison to Dave’s collapse, your seating is downright smooth. And so smoothly do you pluck the proffered beer and take a swig, before leaning into his sprawl and so smoothly do you toss an arm around his shoulders. Neither of you bothered with the lights, so all that illuminates the room is the false stars of the city. Steady, unblinking windows into other people’s lives and the flickering twinkles of street lamps. You shift mildly to get more comfortable and he moves, infinitesimally, to accommodate you.

“You and John are pretty cute together.”

A flat grunt is all you get in return as he takes back the bottle. You can tell he wants to snap back with something, some defence for his behaviour. But he doesn’t and that warms your heart for some reason. You watch him sip the beer pensively and smile a little. _Ridiculous little man._

“Dave.”

Another grunt, but he looks at you. The moment drags on, and he looks at you over the rim of his shades with real curiosity. They slide down his nose, intentionally you think, but no less comical for it. A soft smile and then you reach up and remove them. He doesn’t stop you, but takes another sip instead, curling the arm with the beer around your own thieving limbs.

“I think it’s great that you’re reconnecting with the others.”

“I think it’ll be great when I can sleep soundly again.”

“Mmm.”

The agreement is a deep thrum from your chest and the vibrations are keenly felt between the two of you. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that there’s no space between the two of you, that you’re right up against him. You put yourself here, and he’s not protesting. You take the beer and knock it back in a chug, draining most of it. Then you rest your cheek against your shoulder, your horns barely making it over the back of the couch and lean closer in. 

One of Dave’s hands takes the bottle from you and another snakes around your broad waist and rests easily on your side. The thumb flicks idly at curls that have made it that far down and in the process rubs against your back. Breath escapes you in a sigh, all at once. With a desultory gulp, Dave finishes the beer and puts the bottle down on the coffee table. You hand him his shades, to do the same. You realize your eyes haven’t left one another in some time and you’re feeling your way around this positioning. You brush some hair away, to better see the ruby red irises and you have to ask,

“Dave, what the hell are we doing?”

All you get in return is a less-than-eloquent shrug. His eyes are heavily lidded and he’s on the cusp of sleep. Still, he reaches up with his free hand and runs his fingers past your ear, into your hair so that his palm still cups your cheek. You nuzzle into it, absently, letting your eyes close to enjoy the simple sensation of him touching you.

“’Radia,” he murmurs. “Let’s go to bed.”

In response, your eyes open and you reach up and around to tug him closer. And, god help you, you kiss him. Softly, languidly, not asking or answering anything. His fingers twitch behind your ear momentarily and then he’s pulling you in, responding. You heart trills and you gasp a little to feel his teeth on your bottom lip. It breaks the kiss, but that’s alright. You push up and rise, taking Dave’s hand, pulling him off the couch. You see a dozen lines work their way past his eyes, but mercifully, he utters none. Your heart is pounding in your ears and you feel like you could bolt in a second. Instead, you step backwards and lead him into his bedroom.

\--

She’s close to six and a half feet tall, maybe more, and has to dip her head momentarily to clear the door to your bedroom. Still, she looks as uncertain as you feel. Her grip on your hand is vise-like, but you don’t mention a word, terrified it would break the whack kind of spell that only two people who are completely fucking confused about each other can cast. She leads you to your bed and when the backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress, she sits abruptly. The suddenness of the motion tugs you over, but with a quick twist you miss falling on top of her and bounce on the mattress.

The bed continues to shake and you realize Aradia’s laughing silently, trying to keep it in. You squeeze her hand and say,

“Hey. None of that now. Gotta laugh out loud when you pull some prime comedic shit like that.”

That gets a smile from her, and you become aware of a distant _tick. Tock._ You shuffle closer to her and well don’t that shit just get louder. Now you’ve got your nose buried in her hair, breathing the scent of her in and although you can smell the fruity shampoo, you swear there’s hints of ash and molten rock. A nuzzle to her neck gets a low murmur of appreciation from her that turns into a gasp when you place your lips on her pulse. _Tick, tock_ beats against your lips.

She rolls her body until she’s stretched out, half off the bed and half on you. She’s looking at you, into you, bereft of your shields as you are. You barely have time to swallow your apprehension before her lips are on yours again. Soft and pliable still, but hungry, more needy. You’re both more sure of yourselves, of each other, that you want each other. So your hands find their way into the obsidian cascade of her hair and around the volcanic warmth of her body. Her skin is less than smooth, but not rough; textured, you decide. You pull her close and she completes the roll, leaving her straddling you.

Breaking the kiss she runs her hands up under your shirt and you shiver at the feel of talons across your skin. It’s easy to forget that trolls evolved as merciless killers when one’s treating you like porcelain. It doesn’t matter that her palms are hard, calloused. Their texture is the best thing you’ve ever felt on your skin in all the evers and you’ve seen a lot of those. She leans and bites at the flesh of your throat, a series of nips that lead to your ear. Hot, feathery panting brushes the surface as she nibbles on your lobe and oh god wow you’re hard now. 

Her mouth traces its way across your neckline and you arch your head back with a groan. So much for the cool kid.

\--

You hear the thrum of his groan and feel it through your lips. They tingle with a bright energy you’ve never felt and you almost want to gnaw at his neck. Several things stop you from doing so. The first is that your path across his jaw has reached his mouth. The second is that he’s found his way under your shirt. Combined, the two cause a gasping kiss to claim his mouth as you feel the gentle strokes of his hands against your back and ribs. 

The hand against your ribs drifts ever higher, until a delicate human thumb brushes against the underside of your breast. You twitch from the contact, but don’t dissuade him. The groan you’ve let loose into his mouth would imply otherwise in fact. The groan is prolonged as you feel his reaction, a hard grind up against you and you feel his desire. The implication curls your own bulge from its sheath slightly. Your centre is so hot you feel like a volcano. All you want is to feel more of his skin on yours.

So off comes his shirt and he gives a short laugh at the impatience of your tugging. Then you’re looking down at him and he’s looking up at you. You flush deep red at the heat in his stare, how close it is to adoration. His hands come away from your breasts and lightly scratch their way down your torso. The delicious feel of delicate human nails down your front inflames you and you arc back and grind down and back onto his hardness. He’s got your shirt now and you lower yourself to let him pull it over your head. Your hair cascades free over both your faces and you press yourself down onto him, claiming his mouth hungrily again. 

Light nails trace your back in wandering circles as you suck at his lip. One hand drifts up to your hair and another down, down and into the hem of your pants. He gives your considerable rear a squeeze and gets a gasping giggle from you. You burying you face in his neck and whisper, “You’re incorrigble.”

“And you’re smoking hot.”

His hips shift and he rolls you over. Now its your turn to look up at him, and hell if he doesn’t look nervous. Adorable. You cup his face with both hands and slowly draw him down. His hands leave the bed and you see his abs flex as he balances, supported only by his knees. Your noses are close enough to touch when his palms make themselves known and run themselves up your rib cage. Your breath catches as his thumbs hook under your sports bra and then the elastic is stretch, up and over your mounds. With a shuddering hiss you stretch your arms above your head and let him remove the garment. Then he’s kissing your neck. Softing, sucking nibbles trace their way down to your collarbone where he runs his teeth across the thin skin. Then all of a sudden he’s got a nipple in his mouth and you cry out in surprise and pleasure.

Then he’s rolled off of you and looks almost scared. “Oh hey, shit, I didn’t think that’d hurt!”

“No, dunkass, that wasn’t that kind of sound.” Your bulge is definitely unsheathing now and godDAMN do you want him in you or you in him and you don’t care which. You nearly grab his hands and jam them in your pants before it hits you. Dave’s nervousness, that fear he just showed through how incredibly tired he is. He’s never actually been with a troll. 

“Dave, do you...” You manage to stop yourself before you ask if he knows what a bulge is. As much as you really want to fuck him into the mattress right now, you’re willing to wait, take things slower. And you really don’t want to insult him by implying he’ inexperience, however goddamn stupid that concept is. You’ve established that you both want this and that’s good enough for now. You’ve got time.

“Dave, do you want to take this slower?” His reaction isn’t the palpable relief you thought it would be. Instead he shifts away from you some and seems to withdraw into himself.

“Uh, yeah, sure if you want. Totes cool. No problems or paralyzing uncertainty here, nope.” He fidgets on his side, fighting within himself over what to do right now. So you enfold him into a hug, pulling him close.

“Don’t be silly, I still really want... this. But we’re tired as hell and at this rate we’re going to make idiots of ourselves. Don’t want to ruin the coolkids’ reputation and all.”

“’Radia.” He pushes away slightly, enough to look you in the eye. “In here, with you, I don’t give two shits about my fucking reputation.”

You flush again, heated blood rising to the surface of your skin and he gently places an arm on your side. Settling in, he continues. “’Sides, I’m half naked in bed with a goddamn beautiful alien archaeologist. I’d have to fuck up pretty bad to ruin that.”

You butt him in the head with your horns. Lightly. 

Ok.

Maybe not so lightly. 

\--

In your dreams you chase a winged shadow through obsidian canyons. You can never catch her; the heat of lava flows cascading from the sky is too much, even for you. You run, you stumble, you fall down.

But shadows are better than the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so goddamn unsatisfied with this you have no idea. but after more than a week of banging my head off the keyboard, here. i hope its not too atrocious


	13. Interlude 3: ==> Dave: Step out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mirror mirror

==> Dave: Step out

The shower shuts off with a hissing “shunk.” You elbow aside the curtain and paw around for a towel. The business of towelling shortly completed, it’s out of the shower’s confines and in front of the mirror to try and figure out if you need a shave. You give the mirror a wipe with the towel. Were Aradia still around, you’d maintain some modicum of decency, but she took off early in the morning to get back to College Station leaving you uncomfortably alone and itching with questions. So its dangling free and in the wind for you. 

You lean in close to the mirror and purse your lips to one side of your face to get a better look. Nah. With hair that fine and white, there’s no way in hell anyone would be able to say you need a shave. The advantages of being a genetic freak. White hair, red eyes and a near complete lack of hair anywhere on your body. Calvin Klein would love you fine ass. 

Your eyes wander along the cut of your while you daydream of hot models all over you. The dreams are quickly interrupted when you reach the first scar. Your neck is still tanned, so it doesn’t stand out so. But it’s a pretty vicious one, and your skin is still puckered around the edges. Unlike others that are almost just discolourations, where one lucky imp got their claws into one of you still shows. Against a sudden urge, you don’t touch it. It’s a weird taboo you’ve set for yourself. They’re other Daves’ scars and though you know how they died, it wasn’t you. You’ve got nothing against narcissism and touching yourself, but you’re not touching scars your didn’t earn.

Speaking of scars you didn’t earn...

They show more easily when you’re flushed from the shower. Your body is a goddamn patchwork of line, punctures and blotched shapes. You worry slightly at what Aradia’s reaction would be the first time she sees your fresh out. Then you wonder why you think she’s going to see you like that. Then you consider giving yourself a new set of scars just to put yourself out of your own goddamn misery for idiotic thought trains. I mean seriously, who the fuck wants to go to Uncomfortableton on a regular basis and why the fuck is there an 8am express?

You’ve never been in a relationship where you’re this uncertain. Hell, you’re not even certain you’re in a relationship or which quadrant. Fucking trolls and their goddamn bullshit complex romances... complex. Yeah. You said that. Thank god it was in your head so no one could hear that fall flat. At least you’re not alone in the uncertainty. That much you established last night. Score one for _talking_ about _feelings_! The crowd goes wild as the wide receiver gets charged for icing but the umpire allows the wicket!

Absently you pick up toothbrush and toothpaste and go at your maw. Never mind that you don’t know the status of the (possible) relationship, you don’t even know your own goddamn feelings. You edge closer to her with every passing moment, you want to touch her, but most of the time you’re not even thinking about sex. As you spit out water and paste, you wonder if you’re getting to that age where sex isn’t some huge thing. God, you hope not.

As you god rooting around your room for some clean underwear, you realize that sex is somehow different for trolls and you can’t remember how. Probably due to you actively and obviously turning up the volume on headphones or plugging your ears whenever anyone discussed it. Goddammit, you’re now going to have to contact Rose, aren’t you. You remember that you’ve got messenger duty today and toss the underwear away and go looking for your bike shorts.

You snap into them and, because your brain is apparently at the whim of some deranged lunatic god-figure, remember the sheer size of Aradia compared to your skinny ass. Hell, how the fuck do you even tell if these things are on or not? There’s nothin’ there. Aradia on the other hand... It’s not fat, you know that. She’s just big boned and impossibly muscled. Literally. Human muscles do not work that way. And she’s large enough that she might crush your pathetic little human body if, you know, she couldn’t easily support herself and probably a truck straddling you. You’d wonder what she sees in you, if you didn’t have Terezi, Karkat and that one scrawny double-dead kid as evidence of the sheer variety of sizes trolls come in. In the back of your mind you’re desperately struggling to shove your wounded masculinity into a closet while trying to find a padlock because damn, dog, you’re better than that. 

You look for a light t-shirt and find it, pulling it over your head. At least your physique’s come back out since this messenger job. Your masculinity takes this concession and is shoved back into the closet, for the time being. Rolling your shoulders, you settle the fabric on your wireframe and almost head back into the bedroom for your shades. No, wait. Hang on.

You grab your messenger bag from the bedroom though and slip it over your shoulders. Then you grab the shades from the shitty coffee table where Aradia started undressing you from. Sliding them on, you’re properly clothed again and after a double check of your wallet, keys and phone, you’re out the door. Fuck the haters, fuck the doubt and fuck yourself. Ain’t no one can see past these babies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone who says Dave is cool, calm and confident is missing the point


	14. Because it don't rain in Texas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when all the things go wrong

You’re about halfway across campus when the call comes. The sun’s beating down on you in the heat of a Texan afternoon and you snap open your cellphone and answer with, 

“City Morgue, you tag ‘em, we bag ‘em.” Dave has had entirely too much influence on your life.

“Ah. Ahah, interesting greeting Aradia.” Annnnnd that’s your professor. _Entirely too much._ “But nevermind that! We’ve been given clearance to return to the site! We can leave within the week!”

“Oh my god Professor! That’s fantastic!”

“Indeed, indeed. Now hurry up and get back to the office, we have planning to do!”

Not even remotely bummed that you’re probably going to lose most of your evening to work, you give a whoop because, uh, hello? This is great news! You’re going back in the field. The rush back to the office passes in a blur and you arrive breathless, a silly grin plastered on your face. Your professor’s team is mostly assembled and you spend the next several hours getting a start on preparations for the trip back to Jordan. Afterwards, after equipment is brought out of storage and all your offices are messes, you all high five and go to the bar to plan some more. 

You’re several beers in when the call comes. Not even tipsy, but you’re having a good time and you almost want to spill about Dave and you, except you have no idea what you’d spill because you have no idea what you’re about yet.

Snapping your phone open and answering with a much more conservative, “Hello?” you wonder who wants anything with you at this time of day. 

“Oh hey Dave!” A couple of your co-workers smile knowingly and you want to swat them. And then the silly bashful smile on your face is gone, replaced by what must be half-wild panic and then you’re up and running for the door.

\--

You wake up in agony. Or more accurately, you come to in agony. It’s like a goddamn wildfire racing up your leg. More overwrought metaphors escape you because, uh, hello, screaming pain? You manage to bite down on the scream and salvage some dignity. You try to open your eyes but you can only barely see beyond the haze of your tears. There are figures above you and they could be yelling. You can’t tell for certain so you squeeze your eyes back shut and as the tears run over, try to remember what the fuck just happened.

You remember cycling. You had a delivery. You remember how you weaved through traffic with your usual careless speed, trusting in reflexes so sharp from fighting game constructs and in the pathetic remains of your godhood.

You remember slowing for a red light and calculating when it would turn green based on the perpendicular lights turning yellow and then red. You throw yourself forward and pour on the speed, blasting through the intersection.

You remember an impact that takes the rear of your bike and tosses you into the sky. Ground. Sky. Ground. You try to twist and stick the landing but your body doesn’t respond, just flaps through the sky like Lil Cal. 

Impact. 

Darkness.

You wake up in the agony you are currently in, the flashback having taken forever in your mind, but less than a heartbeat in the real world. Your heartbeat. You grit your fucking teeth and focus on that heartbeat. Breathe in, breathe out. Chill the fucker down. A racin’ heart ain’t gonna get you anywhere when your leg is...

And that’s when you realize your right leg is a fucking shattered ruin and you nearly pass out. Your eyes roll panickedly for a second before your will re-asserts control like a goddamn flow of magma. Ok, this hurts. Can you do anything about it?

That’s when you notice the growing crowd around you and your hearing notifies you that someone’s asking you something.

“Hello? Hello can you hear me? We’re calling an ambulance, you should uh... don’t try to move.”

You look up at them. Middle-aged woman, soccer mom most like. You register that your shades are fucking shattered which leads you to the realization that your face is warm and wet and probably ugly as shit right now. Abraded to fuck across concrete you figure.

“Cool. I’m all over that shit, not moving. Look at this swag leg, makin’ sure I can’t manage that,” you try to say.

It comes out more like, “Cuh. ‘m all ovv the sht. Looguhd ds swaleg, maaaykn shuh ah cnd manj...”

Annnnnnnd you’re out.

\--

You’ve been pacing in the visitor’s waiting room trying to burn off your nervous energy. It hasn’t helped and you’ve probably infected the other people around you with it, judging from their twitchiness. That, or the sight of a six-three angry middle eastern woman is making them nervous. Well, fuck them.

The nurses are supposed to let you know when he wakes up. You’d managed to bullshit your way in as his significant other (“Can you provide us with any proof, Ms.... Megido?” “He’s got bright red eyes, a wife-beater tan and more scars than an Afghanistan vet.”) but they won’t let anyone in just yet. He’s still recovering, not even conscious yet. Getting hit by a goddamn car will do that to someone, even a demi-god.

You’re considering going to the desk again to ask about his status, but a nurse finally comes around, evidently looking for you by the way she immediately zones in on and actually heads to the biggest person in the room. You close the distance as well.

“Ms. Megido? He’s ready for visitors now. Is there anyone else...”

“I’ve called his sister, but she’s in New York. No idea when or if she’ll be coming.” You’re hurrying her along, clutching the small package you bought in a nearby convenience store. She gets the point and leads you through the double doors you’ve been denied entrance through so many times. Through a long hallway that smells of antiseptic and worse the two of you walk. You pass doors and you have to stop yourself from looking through the windows because that’s clearly not where you’re headed.

Until she stops in front of one door on the right. It’s all you can do to stop yourself from barrelling on through.

“Quiet now please, there are other patients.” And with that she pushes the door open for you and you shoulder your way into the room. “Bed by the window, dear.”

You see him, and he almost looks fine. Aside from the shadows under his eyes, the disgusting hospital gown and the raised, cast-encased leg. Hurrying as quietly as you can, you draw up next to him. His head swings woozily in your direction. 

"'sup Radia... tha' takes too long to say... 'Rad? Dia?" His face lights up and he sits up a bit. “'Dia like diamonds! Lucy in the sky with diiiaaamonds...yeah wow ok I’m high."

His head hits the pillow again and he gives a quiet groan while you almost don’t have to force a smile. 

“You doing alright, now?”

“You shittin’ me? Got me a lovely cast, food gets made for me, a babe leaning over my bed, got primo fucking pills. ‘s fuckin’ great. Oh and th’ meds’re there to cut the pain, the food tastes like shit, I can’t make a halfways decent livin’ an’ I’ll have to pay off this shitheap.”

“Oh Dave...” your face falls at the building sense of hopelessness in his voice. “What about the car that hit you?”

“Fucker sped off, course. Who the fuck cares about a biker, right? Hope he drives into a ditch and fucking kills himself.”

You lay a hand on his shoulder. “Well... hey, got you something.”

A cocked eyebrow is all the answer you get, so you withdraw a package from the bag and hand it to him. “Sorry I didn’t really have time to wrap it. Well, I did, but I bought it right before coming here and I didn’t know they’d make me wait so long and...”

“’Radia. Shoosh.” His fumbling finally opens the box and he slides the aviators out into his palm. He just stares at them for a second and there’s what writers like Rose Lalonde would call a pregnant pause, and not just to crack jokes about Dave’s hospital gown. They go on in something akin to reverence or a long pull of beer. He settles back against the pillow, looking much calmer. Or really, deadpan once again.

“You really are a goddamn goddess, you know that?”

There’s the soft blush that he always seems to pull out of you. “God, Dave, this couldn’t have come at a worse time. I’m headed back to Jordan next week to complete the dig.”

He gives a short, sharp laugh. “Well shit, how’s that worse? Good on yah, gettin’ back out there. Terrorists all gone or somethin’?”

“That’s what they say. But Dave, how will you...” You stumble over the words. You’d thought about rehearsing this, did rehearse it while you were waiting. But it came out jumbled and different every time and every time it was what you wanted to say. “I mean, without the bike, I just want to take... to help you out.”

Dave waves his hand dismissively. “Got along fine before you showed hereabouts, girl. I’ll manage without, no worries.”

“But...!”

Dave’s head whips sharply in your direction. “Don’t need your pity Megido.”

_Oh fuck._

Your insides seize for a moment. Because that hit something you intentionally haven’t been thinking of, something you buried pretty deep. Despite telling Karkat that you had no interest in jamming yourself into quadrants it appears that you pity Dave Strider. In the Alternian sense. Damned troll culture, reaching through two universes and death itself to fuck with you. And while intellectually you know Dave’s human conception of pity was not romantic, some ancient animal part inside of you still registered it as a rejection. 

With a force of will you shake yourself free of what would become a depressive cycle and swat him across the arm. “It’s not pity, you idiot,” you lie. “You’re my friend and I want to help.”

Dave makes a face so abnormally expressive you have to burst out laughing at its distaste. “But I won’t push. You’re a big bad demon-slaying god and you’re right, you’ll figure something out.”

His face turns to something resembling a smirk and he relaxes, “Damn right.”

You stay like that for a while longer. It’s like you’ve run out of things to say and that doesn’t even matter. His breathing gets shallower and for a moment, you’re worried. Then he stirs and you kick yourself. _Come on, it’s not like there are many complications you can have from a broken leg. Humans can’t be that fragile, can they?_ You look down at the arm you’ve rested your hand on. Your palm is larger than the width of his entire upper arm. His corded muscles are close to the surface, hiding under delicate browned skin. You could crush him, easily, but this is Dave Strider. He’s not exactly one to let himself get crushed. You see a blink behind his glasses.

“Goddamn, these are some choice drugs. Sorry, ‘m fadin’ fast here.”

“Hey, it’s cool.” You give his arm a squeeze. “We’ve got a week still, and you’ll be out of here in no time.”

A half nod from him. 

“I’ll let you get some rest, but first...” You stand and open your arms for a hug. He gives you a long suffering look, but swings an arm out to accommodate. Your arms encircle his frame and you embrace him gently. You hear him breathe deeply and reflexively, you do as well. As much as this place smells of antiseptic and sick, Dave still smells like burning dust and the hot winds of Texas. Which is to say LOHAC. Texas never smelled this good.

You’re so absorbed by the moment, you miss Dave’s hand lightly lift from your back and grab your ass. Of course, once he squeezes you straighten like a bolt of lightning and slap him, grinning.

“Jackass!”

\--

When the docs clear you to leave, they offer you a wheelchair. You turn it down. The quietly encourage you to take it easy, no reason to make recovery harder on yourself than necessary. They don’t know that every chance you can pull yourself together enough for it, you’ve been slowing down time, giving yourself more time to heal. You had 28 hours in that hospital in the real world. In Dave Strider’s world, you had close to 35. Not much, but you figure if you keep this up, you’ll be on your feet about 25% faster. And be off your rocker 25% more because goddamn slow motion is boring after the first hour.

Instead of plunking down in the chair, you grab some crutches from the side of the room. You hop over, nearly falling flat on your face from the extra length in the new pant legs. No more skinny jeans for Dave, nope. You had to be able to fit a fucking cast under there, so Aradia kindly picked up a set that were way to fucking baggy and long for you. That, or gave you one of her old pair. You’re not about to check. Having made your point, you ask the doctors,

“So... what are my damages?”

“Ah yeah, the bill, yeah?” This sucker’s Texan is stronger than yours. So strong it’s almost comical, almost gets you to crack a smile. “Turns out that’s been covered. A...”

“Goddammit Rose, I swear to _fucking god..._ ”

“Wha...? Well, Ah dunno about no Rose, but Ah’m told it was a man’s voice givin’ up the credit card info so...”

“So? Dude, who fucking covered it? What name was on that shit?”

“Mr. Strider, you have to understand, client transactions are confidential,” pipes up the woman beside him. “If the gentleman has not informed you of his identity, then we cannot reveal that information to you.”

Things click in your head a lot slower than they should. You blame the codeine, or whateverthefuck they have you upright on. “Yeah, and I bet he drives a black pickup truck and was last seen speeding down East 11th and Trinity. Jackass.”

You hobble your way out of the room, shouldering the docs aside. You’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, even if the dealer is a giant guilt-wracked asshole who can’t face you mano-a-mano. You cut your train of thought off before it can get away from you. Down the elevator and out the sliding doors, you contemplate how the fuck you’re going to get home on a dime. Turns out hauling your ass even that far by the power of your arms was tiring (you also blame atrophy) so you figure, fuck it, cab time.

Hilariously, there’s a line-up of cabs outside the sickhouse, so it’s not even that much effort to be lazy. Once inside and directions given, you get to work dialing up some jobs because, well, you’re out of half your income right now.

“Hey boss,” first one’s to the club, naturally. “Look, Aradia told you about the accident yeah? I’m wonderin’ if I could pick up a few extra night unt-”

“Yeah, about that Dave...” Your heart immediately drops at the tone in his voice. “The same night you checked into St. David’s, the fucking lighting rack dropped.”

“...you’re shitting me.”

“Not an ounce, Strider. We’ve got lawsuits out the wazoo and the owner’s taking the opportunity to reckon whether he’ll fix up and renovate or just sell the place to cover the costs.”

“And in the mean time, ya’ll’re closed, is what you’re tellin’ me.”

“Yeah man, sorry. Safety and inspection and all that shit.”

“...fuck.” You give a half-hearted sigh, already trying to figure out your next move. “So, look, you gotta know some other guys who might need some kinda DJ, yeah?”

“Yeah, definitely man. But you know the game, you gotta work your way into their books. I can get you in the door, but the rest is on you, ya know?”

“Definitely. Thanks boss. E-mail ‘em?”

“You got it, Strider. Good luck, and hey.” A pause. “Glad you’re outta the hospital.”

“Yeah. Like a broken leg is gonna keep a Strider down.”

With your thumb you kill the call and let your arm drop. Slumping against the taxi’s door, you think to yourself, _...but it sure as fucking hell pours._


	15. Imaginarium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and you trip over yourselves trying to make them right

_It’s not a tearful good-bye, but it’s a very near thing._

\--

It’s not a tearful good-bye, because Dave Strider is a coolkid, and he’d never let anyone see a hint of emotion past those cheap plastic frames. Not even/especially you. It’s not been a pleasant week. Work hasn’t turned up for him, with the club down which has put the bills for next month entirely out of reach. But he doesn’t show any of it. You’ve seen a spreadsheet on his laptop and you can tell there’s more red than black, even without prying. But he catches your interest and shrugs it off.

“Just something Bro taught me to do. Money problems make more sense this way.”

You’d offered to help him try to find work at the university, which got you only a laugh. “No degree, remember? Hell, I couldn’t even get a job in the mailroom.”

For once, you feel guilty about taking Rose’s charity, going to college on her dead mother’s dime. And not for the first time, you wonder why Dave never did. Pride is the obvious reason, but you’re getting to know him better and you think that can’t be it. He tries like hell to be as shallow as mud in the road. So hard that most people buy into it, even some of his friends. So hard that his own sister has to resort to making up psychological profiles for him, rather than trying to figure him out herself. 

But it’s certainly pride that has Dave turn down most of your offers for help and just when you’d been getting testy about it, he asked you to help him move his furniture. 

“Oh did you find a cheaper place or something?”

“Shit yeah, you won’t believe how fucking cheap this place is. Hundred bucks a month, all in. Of course, it’s basically a closet. Actually, yeah. It’s a closet.”

You look at him puzzled. He deadpans and sighs.

“’m out, ‘Radia. Can’t afford this place anymore. But the landlord’s got storage down in the basement, is letting me have it till I get back on my feet on the cheap.”

“Oh, Dave...”

“Nah, ‘s cool. Be good to have somewhere to leave my stuff where it won’t get jacked.”

“But, um.... where will you live?”

“What, you think I can’t make it on the street? Lady, I been inches from the street since I was born, I got street in my veins, fucking concrete dust and hobo vomit for blood and yeah ok I’m headed to Hellmurder Island tomorrow.”

Clapping your hands together, you grin. “That’s great! You’ll get to talk with Terezi, and maybe Jade can help with your leg, and...”

“And Karkat can spend hours shouting into my ears, liquifying my brains so that I don’t have to deal with the verbal diarrhoea that constitutes what passes for his speech.”

You help him stack some of the boxes in silence for a bit before asking, “How long?”

“Ehn. Figure at least until my leg is healed up. So when I get back I can get back to cyclin’ around.”

“So, um, you’ll need a place to stay while you’re getting some money together, yeah?”

“I guess...” He eyes you suspiciously.

“Look, my subletter is only good for three months and if you’re out longer than that, want to maybe take over my place?”

“Three months? Jesus if this thing takes that long to heal I’m pretty sure I’m going off myself to save my sanity from excess quantities of Karkat.”

“It’s your femur, Dave. It’ll take around that long, at least.”

“Who died and made you my doctor,” he grumbled.

“Archaeologist.” you knock on his skull. “I know more about bones than the average troll.”

“Yeah sure thing creepy-death girl, totally buying that line.” He shuffle-hops over to the kitchen and cracks a beer. “But yeah, ok, why not. You’ve crashed here plenty, about time I can get my due recompense. 

You’d wonder why he accepts now, when he hasn’t the past week. But you suspect it’s because he didn’t think you’d be gone for three months. Your chest feels a little warm and you tape the box shut a bit tighter than necessary. 

“So now what?”

“Now we move these fuckin’ things down several flights of stairs without me breakin’ another fuckin’ bone in my...”

“Oh no way are you trying to move furniture with your leg broken.”

“Chill, ‘Radia, I’m good to-”

“NO, Dave.”

“Look, ‘Radia, I’m not such an ass that I’m gonna make you try to carry... all... that...”

He trails off as you toss the cushions off the couch, reach behind it and lift the whole thing up with one arm, bracing it in your armpit.

“Ok, carry the pillows.” Dave shuts up after that. Having made your point, you drop the couch and place some boxes onto the empty seats. Then you grab one end of the couch and lift, walking through the door with it. After several trips of hobbling and hopping up and down the stairs on one crutch Dave is showing signs of exhaustion and you’ve gotten some very strange looks from passersby in the hall. So you make him stop carrying shit up and down the stairs and post him on guard duty to distract people from the woman carrying six boxes of books down the stairs at once. 

By the time you’re done you’ve only barely broken a sweat, but something’s occurred to you. 

“So that’s the last of it, huh?” you ask on the way back up. Dave shoulders his door open and hobbles into the now-empty apartment.

“Yup.”

“All the furniture packed up into storage, bare apartment, only your laptop and a suitcase left.”

“Yes...”

“And you leave tomorrow.” You see comprehension dawn on his face shortly before he lets his head hit the wall. “Dave, where were you planning on sleeping?”

His jaw works as he tries to come up with something to say and you burst out laughing. “Oh shut up.”

You close the distance and wrap your arms around his chest, burying your nose in his hair. “Hey. Come get your recompense early, eh?”

\--

It’s not a tearful good-bye, but it’s a near thing. And it’s probably not what you think. The two of you get good and smashed before retiring to her place. 

“Like hell I’m not showing up at Harley’s door drunk or hungover. Should bloody well be expected of me.” Responsibility is for poor sods who just haven’t their income devastated.

It’s some crummy student bar with overly expensive drinks since it’s not Thursday through the weekend, but it’s got beer in pitchers so you don’t really care. She puts down about three times as much as you and stays about twice as sober. Sometimes life just isn’t fair. Then again, you’re not sure about your ability to make it to her apartment without her help, so maybe it’s for the best that you’re gonna be noodle-limbed and she’ll be... well, at least more sober than you. But she is doing her best to get tanked, drinking more heavily than you’ve ever seen her before.

Liquid courage coursing through your veins, or at least your liver, you ask, “So what’s with the heavy drinking, junior?”

She looks startled, maybe because you noticed, and looks away. “Now what self-respecting person would let someone else get drunk alone?”

Evasion. You feel like pressing the matter, but a surge of sympathy gets in the way. How many times have you pulled the same thing and wished people would just back the fuck off. So you pour you both another and reply, “A-fuckin-men and thank christ for that.”

You both take a long pull and suddenly she asks, “So showing up at Jade’s hungover... just to make the right first impression?”

You eye her from behind ever-present shades. You’re not thinking exactly clearly, but you have an inkling of where this is going. But hey, maybe if you play along, she’ll spill her beans. Drunk Strider, paragon of cunning. So you sip and the beer, pretending to think about answering.

“Shit, ‘Radia, keep thinkin’ like that an’ you’re gonna turn out like Rose.”

“You don’t ha-”

“Nah, it’s cool.” You say, probably a little bit too quickly. Ah, fuck it. “I ain’t exactly keen on sayin’ hi to TZ sober.”

“You think she’ll be there?”

You snort. “Karkat and Jade work together on that island, hell yes she’ll be there. Hell, it’s half the reason I’m goin’ through with this nonsense.”

“Oh?” Her interest peaks. You think. That could just be the alcohol talking.

“Yeah. Kinda promised her we’d hash shit out, as I dumped her like the jackass I am when we got out of... yeah.” You swallow and continue, repressing memories like they’re vomit about to come spewing forth from your gullet. “So I’m gonna apologize, she’s gonna bitch me out, and bam, closure.”

She’s holding her pint glass in both hands, fingers intertwining and fidgeting. “That’s good! Real good.” 

Yeah, she’s nervous about something. It clicks in your heard that she’s trying to drink up some liquid courage on your own and you’re vaguely worried about that. 

“Look, I’m not just drinking here with you. I just... I was worried about you and Terezi and I figure drinking to forget about those worries isn’t too bad, since I’m not gonna be seeing you for months.”

You stare blankly at her. Welp. So much for cunning Drink Strider. Drunk Strider. Dammit, smooth internal monologue is _hard_ when you’re this tanked. You fumble for some kind of reassuring words, but before you can get them out properly, she continues,

“Yeah, I know, it’s silly. I’m just... going to be pretty alone when we’re out there. I get along fine with everyone at the office, but living with them is just...”

She trails off and sort of stares past you, eyes hooded. You’re still trying to come up with something to say and still failing. So you do what your brain tells you is the next best thing and reach out, pull her close, kiss her and-

\--

When you drop a groggy Dave off at the airport, there’s a content smile on your face. Last night was... well it wasn’t anything magical past that kiss. You both stumbled back to your place, way too tanked to do anything past collapse in your bed, groping and giggling. It was like being a hormonal teenager, up until the part where Dave excused himself to your bathroom. It’s on the other side of your empty apartment so he had a bit of trouble navigating his way there despite your lack of pretty much anything. When he got back, he tasted pretty thoroughly of mouthwash and you take the hint and just, well, snuggle. It’s probably not a term he would be caught dead using, but he doesn’t get a say when he was passed out in the crook of your arm.

You’re still going to be pretty alone out there, but the fact that Dave actually cares will carry you through the next couple of months. Nightmares and wigged-out co-workers won’t get you down this time. You hope. There won’t be dreams of lava and obsidian or of soaring on thermals, but you can deal. You’ve dealt this long. You can last a couple of months more. And there’s always pesterchum. Jade’s got a completely kitted-out island so Dave won’t be without internet there. Ideally he’ll be able to get a job and get internet at your place and...

 _And you’re already planning your future with him. Goddammit girl, you got it bad._ The contented smile turns self-deprecating and you recall pressing your key into his hand before hugging him good-bye at the airport. Then the cabbie honks and you duck back into the car, slouching to make way for your horns. If you ever get around to getting a license and car, it’s going to be a fucking convertible, you swear to god.

When you get back to your place, it’s time to pack. Not that it’s particularly difficult. A semi-formal outfit goes at the bottom of the duffel, folded neatly. This takes the most amount of effort, because you’ve never been one for neat or folding or formalwear. Ideally the government will have learned its lesson and not ask for anyone from the dig to come and entertain at a party, but better safe than sorry. On top of the nice clothes goes a set of cardboard slats to keep them safe and folded. Then you proceed to jam every other piece of clothing you own into the massive bag, clearing out your apartment for the subletter. It doesn’t take long. 

When you’re done, you flop on the bed, setting it to creaking with your weight. You look over the bare apartment. You’re not going to miss this place. You’re going to miss not being alone.

\--

It’s not a tearful good-bye because you managed to get sufficiently wasted that your hangover overrides any feeling of loss or loneliness. For the first ten minutes of your flight, you swore flying hungover is the worst idea you have ever had, no exceptions. This includes all the ill-conceived shit you’ve done in the game and as a near-suicidal white boy in the bad parts of Austin. Your grogginess escalated to vomiting in the airport washroom even before you got on the plane and once you got skyborn, your headache magnified with every atmosphere you left behind. Those first ten minutes were hell on earth and you say this as a man who had died multiple times over. The pain you live through is always worse than that which you leave behind.

And then...

And then what qualifies as a bonafide miracle occurs. It’s airline policy, but to you it’s a fuckin’ miracle. It’s accidental, unlooked for, and the perfect, god-sent answer to your suffering. Air New Zealand’s international flights feature complimentary Hair of the Dog. Free alcohol. Oh sweet Christ. Oh Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff. Your finger pounds at the call button as soon as the flight attendant (hostess? Fuck if you know) announces your own personal deliverance. You order the first beer she names and a painkiller to boot. You are so glad you have an aisle seat, the other passengers don’t even know. You are so fuckin’ ecstatic that she actually comes back with Tylenol that you leave a tip on her tray. 

From then on the flight gets easier as you sublimate your journey under alcohol and drugs. The attendants suggest changing to one of their wines after your third bathroom break and who the fuck are you to object. You don’t even feel the headache that accompanies changing boozes. Them stewardesses know their shit, you acknowledge through your haze. Hell, they even have the good sense to provide you with a litre of water just before you pass out. You guzzle it, use the tiny-ass lavatory and spend the rest of your trip blissfully unconscious. 

You’re woken by the turbulence of the plane’s approach. The pilot is carrying on in an accent that would wet the fuckin’ panties of half the girls you know about bucklin’ your seatbelts and you don’t give a shit because yours is buckled and you really need to piss. The plane makes a sort of rough landing but you have little experience to judge by, so you join the rest of the passengers in applauding. You take care to make your clapping prim as fuck to convey the proper irony though. You’re surprised by how not-hungover you are and it’s only when you get up to grab your carry-on that you realize you’re still drunk. _Oh fucking well._

Once allowed off the plane, you booked it to the toilet and then collected your single piece of luggage. Harley’s instructions hadn’t been the clearest at this point. Walking through the gate to the glorious public of New Zealand, you were supposed to meet someone who was going to take you to your next destina-

Oh fuck right off.

_Fuck right off, Harley._

_This is so not fair._

You clear the gate leading out of the customs and immigration area and you can’t miss the sign. It’s bright fucking red with white lettering: 

_Mr Dave Jerk-ass Strider._

No one seems to be paying attention to the fact that it’s being held up by an alien with right angles for curves, pointy fucking horns and a shark-tooth grin for a mouth. But what the fuck can you do? You amble your still-drunk ass up to the troll holding the sign.

“Jerk-ass reporting for duty.”

There’s a tense moment of mutual acknowledgement, like two tigers meeting in the jungle. Except the tigers are socially inept psychopaths that used to snog and really don’t want to paint the terminal red. Ok, one of them doesn’t want to paint the terminal red. Terezi sniffs haughtily and lowers the sign. 

“The Jerk-ass will follow.”

“Yes’m.” Hey, you’re here to do penance, you called that on your own. You have no problem dealing with the little hurdles leading up to that point. Really. No lie. Terezi leads you out of the terminal and into a cab. She gives the name of what you assume is another airport. “So what’s the plan for getting out to Hellmurder Island? Charter or some shit?”

“Normally, yes. However, the defendant’s timely arrival coincides with the departure of the cargo plane that regularly supplies the island, so we will be hitching a ride.”

“Cargo plane? Yeah, ok, sure. I can deal with budget and rough rides.”

At that, Terezi’s manic grin grows even larger on her face. You wouldn’t say you’re worried but no fuck that, you’re worried.

It’s a twelve hour flight and the buzz you’re on makes it real easy to nap even jammed as you are between industrial shipping containers. Hell, it’s easier than sleeping upright in an airplane seat. You’re flat on your back and Terezi tosses you an unzipped sleeping bag for a blanket. But when she wakes you, you’re sore as hell and have pins and needles all up and down your cast leg. The rest of your body is fucking sore and you don’t even want to talk about your head.

Suffice it to say that it takes a second to realize what the fuck she is even wearing. 

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes. No runway on the island, remember?”

No, you’d forgotten. Supplies were airdropped onto Hellmurder Island. “TZ, I can’t fucking skydive, I’ve got a cast and oh wait I DON’T KNOW HOW.”

“Which is why you’ll be going tandem with me! I’ve done this dozens of times now. They even have a pad set up to catch us, on account of your crippling infirmity.”

“I get it. This is a trust exercise. Because as punishments go, it’s way to fucked up, even for you and Jade.”

“No, Mr. Jerkass it’s neither.” She’s scowling now and up in your face. She jabs a pointed claw into your chest and you swear she breaks skin. “It’s the way it is out here. You need to stop thinking everything orbits you and deal with the reality around you.”

You’re silent. You have no idea where that came from, but it looks like it’s been on her mind for a while. You figure just shutting the fuck up for once is your best bet.

“Now put on this gear and I’ll run you through what not to do.”

Screaming wasn’t on that list, thankfully. The back of the plane lowers and handlers kick pallets of goods out the back and then Terezi’s sending you both out. You’re not ashamed of the screaming. You can even pretend it’s for the hangover. But the whistling cold air gets in your throat so you quickly shut your mouth and your eyes and think back to the last time you were warm and secure.

\--

_Think for a moment about a kiss shared by two Time players. Actually, go ahead and think about the best kiss you’ve ever had. Think about how all the bullshit cliches were actually right and time seems to fucking crawl along. Now imagine you and your partner are tipsy as fuck to boot and can actually make time crawl. Imagine tasting their sweetness, the soft ghost of their breath. Imagine a gentle sucking on your bottom lip, a hesitant graze of teeth. And, eventually, the lazy coil of tongues as your whole being heats with desire and affection. Now imagine that going on forever as the pair of you make time give you the extra moments you always want when you’re so desperate for them._

_Imagine that._

_And to top it all off, the part you can’t imagine. The pulsing feeling of someone else’s power reaching in to your mind and slowing your perception of those moments. Their silent invitation to do the same to them and your eventual spiritual, deific entwinement as your slow each other’s very perception of reality to savour this perfect moment. The pulses shift, then synchronize and your hearts and minds tick in perfect, achingly drawn-out unison as your hold on for dear life against the flush of emotion and animal want._

_It wasn’t a tearful good-bye, but it was a damn near thing. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho-kay. I apologize for the ever this took to write, but my life is in a hellhole and it doesn't look like it's getting better for at least another half-year or so. As a result, my creativity and drive have been hampered and this certainly isn't the story I started writing at the beginning of this year. Though I did say this would take some time to write, so you were forewarned ;)
> 
> In all seriousness though, thank you, every last one of you who commented and asked me to keep going. Even if that only got another sentence out of me (the most I managed to write in one month), you still kept me gong. I don't plan on abandoning this tale, as many times as I've written myself into a corner, but I am finding it very difficult to write up to a standard that I want to display, which is slowing me down. 
> 
> So thank you and trust that this will eventually be finished. 
> 
> Oh and Merry Christmas motherfuckers, I missed out buying rum to finish this for you.


	16. Dreams of Deeper Waters, Older Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> but you can't because the world's too big

Your tent is quiet and empty while the night is cold and dark. The last vestiges of your co-workers' conversation drifts off into the stars as everyone heads to bed. You're left staring at those stars, wondering. Wondering what tonight has in store for you. The bleak and empty whiteness of your dreams as normal? Or the shifting, cloudy darkness of proper dreams that now haunt you. At least you can remember the stark, empty whiteness, terrible and lonely as it is. The other dreams...

Your co-workers, those who had been on dig with you before, had already set up their own tent away from yours. The newbies, blissfully innocent, had invited you to crash in their's when they saw you set up. After the first night, you expected them to be uncomfortable. You were used to giving people nightmares, but had selfishly welcomed the opportunity to sleep along with others. But no, this time your tentmates reported something altogether different. You spoke in your sleep, apparently. They described a harsh, rasping and clicking language that you recognized with a chill. They were real polite about it, but you knew where this would lead. So you packed your tent and cot and made it up a little ways from the others. You weren't particularly afraid of any of the dangers or cold, being far enough into your adult stage that anything on this planet wasn't particularly a threat to you. And so now you sleep alone again, left to your eerie dreams. 

You can't remember much of anything from those darker dreams, save that they were comforting and disconcerting at the same time. You certainly can't guess what would cause you to talk in your sleep, and in Alternian, no less. You've done your best to forget it, to the point of answering Terezi in English when she tries to talk to you in your mother tongue. As you enter your tent and clamber into bed, you wonder if there's any way to talk to your dreamself, maybe by getting Dave to try and find her. But no, when you all created this world, you erased everything related to the Game from it, including dreamselves and bubbles. Besides which, Dave has never been one to traipse through dreambubbles at the best of times. And it's not like you have any way of contacting him out here anyways. Curling up on your bunk, apart from the others, you try to go to sleep and not miss him terribly.

You sleep. You dream. Someone says,

"Hi Aradia!"

And you say, "Hello, Feferi."

\--

Your name is Dave Strider and jesus christ on a pogo stick this island hates you. When you thought about Hellmurder Island (now its officially registered name, Jade proudly proclaims) you thought your worst problems would be various wild animals and the accumulated wrath of Terezi Pyrope. Instead you faced horrors you never thought you'd face again. 

University students.

And the patient, knowing gaze of Terezi Pyrope. _Holy ballsacks, kill me now._

The students are apparently Jade's research assistants, accumulated from the various universities she's working with. Stanford, Newcastle, Karnataka, it's a real mixed bag. And after having been stuck on this island with one another for so long, they were fucking ecstatic to meet someone new. Way more ecstatic than you were prepared to deal with. Jade blithely covered your callous disregard of their attempts at conversation with, "Oh, that's just Dave. He's PTSD'd and he's here to see Terezi."

"Dr. Pyrope? And not Dr. Vantas?"

_Jesus Christ am I the only goddamn person here who don't have more letters after their name than in it?_

"Yep! Despite his delightful demeanour and hamfisted attempts at fixing your love lifes, Karkat is not actually qualified in psychology."

_And Terezi is? Christ almighty, what a cover story._

So you spent your first several days figuring out when would be a good time to interrupt Terezi's apparently busy schedule of reading casefiles and cheerily threatening people over the phone. In this time, you familiarize yourself with the island, hobbling about as best you can. There's not much of it. Fuckhuge tower and research facilities, dormitories, the trolls' place and fucking lethal wilderness as far as the eye can see. As much as you'd prefer not to, you spend the majority of your time loitering around the trolls' place. Aside from one glowing room that Karkat seems to spend 90% of his time in, it appears to be the safest place on the island. From experiments, not wildlife. As difficult to tell apart as they are.

So your routine turns into get up, stuff face with crap from caf, check e-mail for anything from Aradia (usually nothing), play around with samples, go to the trolls', attempt to work up the nerve to say something to Terezi. This turns into lounging about in the trolls'... receiving block, not lounge, while Terezi yammers away on the phone. Normally, you'd throw up a wall of words with your meaning jammed in edgewise and hope the other person got it, but this is Terezi. You know from experience she'd cut through that mess to the core, your core. And your plan B of letting her broach the topic is going fan-fucking-tastically.

It's during this disaster-in-progress that Jade one day storms in, has what you decide must be the loudest, most violent hatesex possible with Karkat and waltzes back out. When all Terezi does is cock an eyebrow at your gaping jaw, you realize that you are totally and hopelessly out of your element here.

\--

As usual, you wake grasping at the mists of your dreams. It would be irritating if you weren't convinced that there was jack all you could do about it. Instead you sigh and get on with your routine. Cram down as much food from the canteen as possible, check to make sure your pit assignment is the same or what's changed, and get to digging/excavating. Your work is alternatingly rough or delicate. Shovelling is a task that your physique is well suited-to, rustbloods having been bred for manual labour. When you were a newly minted shovelbum, you impressed the rest of the crew with how quickly you could clear your square. On the other hand, your experience has leant you a delicate touch that means when it comes to removing artefacts, you were called upon as much as higher staff.

Like so much else in your life, you straddle a line that makes you hard to define, in spite of how much you try to define yourself. Hell, you and Dave never defined what you were, beyond acknowledging some manner of "together." That, at least, was a comforting sort of vagary, neither of you really needing to expand upon it. You're really beginning to hate the downtime while the crew tries to get the satellite connection working, as neither of you know how the other is doing. You're sure he must be fine, but there's something to be said for real contact. Not for the first time, you miss the ever-present wireless connection of The Game. For all its deathtraps, existental pitfalls and psychological torture, it did make the mundane ridiculously easy.

Manual labour, for example, is now just a time for your brain to space out while your body goes through long-practiced motions, unless you find something. Historically, this has been good for you as you could work on your thesis in the back of your mind, but now the whole process gets randomly interrupted by a blonde man in shades. You shake your head ruefully. This is getting ridiculous.

Your day passes with little interruption, until it's time to pack it in. When the dude in charge of getting the satellite connection up says that he's got to head into town for some part or another and who wants to come, you yell "Shotgun!" as loud as you can. You're not the only one, but seniority gets you the valued seat. Minutes later, you're bombing down the rough track in the old Land Rover, grinning as one of the bums in the back starts feeling queasy. What's the point of off-roading if you don't do your damnedest to try to wreck the car?

When you pull onto proper road, the town isn't far off and soon enough, you're shouldering your pack and looking for a cafe. You're once again reminded you're lucky this dig is in Jordan, as getting a hijab over your horns would have been impossible. Here, you're free not to bother or risk shattering the illusion; they're more of a fashion statement, which you don't have the the time for. You grab a drink and plop down your laptop for some quality internet time.

An e-mail to Dave, since he isn't online. A quick check of newsfeeds. An idle check of the timezones between here and Hellmurder Island. Trawling randomly through the distractions of the web. Check your e-mail. Check your journals, see if anything of interest to you or your thesis is up. Check pesterchum. Review what you've written in your outline. Add some research possibilities here, some points there. Check your e-mail. _Yeah, this is getting nowhere._

You pack up and head back to the SUV. There are bare minutes before the others walk up, so you idly speed the passing time up. You have to wonder if Dave feels it when you do this. You don't think you've ever noticed him work his remaining magic, except when you're nearby. Maybe it's based on distance? Or awareness? In any case, the others arrive as the sun is setting, and you drive off with it at your back. With a twelve hour difference, there's a chance you might catch Dave after dinner, assuming the fucking satellite connection is working.

\--

You're about halfway through a plate of something that something called a cookalizer thinks is eggs when your laptop dings.

apocalypseArisen [AA] has begun trolling turntechGodhead [TG]

AA: hi there coolkid  
TG: oh thank christ  
TG: radia you gotta save me   
AA: ?  
TG: the island's full of terrifying beasts  
TG: fuckin slavering for pieces of my choice ass  
TG: screamin for morsels of my sick rhymes  
TG: tryin to get all up in my head   
AA: ...you're not talking about animals are you  
TG: grad students  
AA: l0l  
AA: i am so sorry   
TG: also these eggs suck  
TG: what the fuck is a cookalizer even  
TG: how does that shit work  
TG: know what, don't answer that  
TG: how's kicks   
AA: finally got satellite up, sorry for no connection 0n0  
AA: dig's going alright, about half the team have found the docks  
AA: sometime this week we'll have the scuba equipment delivered  
AA: and we can start on the barge   
TG: wait what  
TG: scuba equipment in the fucking desert   
AA: yes dave  
AA: it's a river. with a wreck in it  
AA: and i AM specialised for underwater archaeology  
AA: jeez were you ever even listening?  
AA: -u0   
TG: whoa hey i don't think you ever ment  
TG: oh haha yeah, get strider all defensive I see how this is going down   
AA: it's okay, it's just fun getting you riled  
TG: yeah you know you like it when im riled  
TG: or  
TG: uh  
TG: something   
AA: l0l  
AA: I don't think I ever really did go into detail but yeah  
AA: diving! whoo!   
TG: glad you're gonna be havin fun  
TG: while i sit here gnawin my fingernails like a kid sent to the principal's office  
TG: curled up on a fuckin uncomfortable-ass chair, my doom approachin like a runaway train  
TG: and the conductor is a cacklin madwoman, ordering takedowns across the globe   
AA: dave  
AA: you walked up to the principal's office on your own  
AA: and the rest of the metaphor makes no sense   
TG: yeah welcome to my life  
TG: iunno, i figure I should have said somethin by now but tz looks pretty fuckin busy  
TG: and jade and karkles are busy fuckin  
TG: which btw what the fuck   
AA: oh yeah. karkat's sticking with Alternian traditions  
AA: i guess he sees Jade as his kismesis?  
AA: and Jade's got that polyamory thing going on   
TG: and tz's cool with it because she didn't bat an eye  
AA: yeah, she's quite happily nestled in karkat's red quadrant  
AA: and sometimes unhappily ashen between them   
TG: oh my god spare me the space alien love rectangle details  
TG: i just meant jade and karkat: really?   
AA: well kismesitude is based in rivalry, competition and respect  
AA: iunno how much you know about jade and karkat's professional work   
TG: jack all  
AA: well karkat is a compubiogeneticist or something  
AA: and jade is a maverick whateverthefuck scientist who is in so many different fields it's not even funny  
AA: and they aggravate the fuck out of each other because they are constantly calling bullshit on each other's theories  
AA: in public and private  
AA: I think karkat's blown several of her projects out of the water? and funding with it?  
AA: and jade's basically disproven everything he's come out with  
AA: but he's so far into groundbreaking shit that the rest of the world just smiles and nods in confusion when he publishes something   
TG: yawn ok science hate-sexytimes got it  
AA: ...  
AA: so anyways yeah, ignore them and do what you went there to do   
TG: march up to the gallows and get my noose calibrated  
TG: gotcha i'll get right on that   
AA: oh please  
AA: if she wanted to kill you, she would have at christmas   
TG: yeah  
TG: yeah i know  
TG: hey what time is it there anyways   
AA: guess!  
TG: 9:32:16pm  
AA: wow nice  
TG: there you have it ladies and gentlemen  
TG: the amazing hero of time  
TG: just look at all that power   
AA: heheh  
AA: alright hero, we're going to low power soon  
AA: i'll catch you later   
TG: yeah i'd better get off my ass and go talk to tz  
AA: yes  
AA: yes you should  
AA: gnight!   
TG: night

apocalypseArisen [AA] has ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG]

Welp. What are you waiting for Strider? A goddamn invitation? Up and at 'em. Time for the knight to go forth and confront the dragon. Except you know that in these situations the hero usually gets eaten by the monster. Not that Terezi's a monster (usually). Not that you're quibbling in your own damn head in order to get out of this. Your name is Dave Strider and you're not entirely sure when you became this much of a coward.

\--

Your dreams are dark and shadowy, but in the distance you hear the low, sombre sound of a _**tock**_.

\--

You'd love to say that you march over to TZ's, but let's be fucking realistic here. You've been here like 4 days, your leg is still a mess. You struggle over to the trolls' and are sorely tempted to get started on time-assisted healing right this instant, but there might be students watching. A fucking cripple suddenly and unnaturally speeding up, hobbling in fast-forward is going to get a lot of questions asked. Probably pointedly, with instruments and notepads. 

When you finally make it through the door, you collapse on your usual couch as Terezi barely looks up at you. She's not on the phone, so this would be a perfect fucking time time, Strider. You can almost hear Rose's mocking voice. _And quite suddenly, having shown no prior signs of inadequacy, the subject experiences performance issues at the precipice._

"So yeah, I'm a toolbag with the emotional spectrum of a Geiger painting. I was a douche to you post-game because I couldn't stand the idea of being the only one who survived out of millions of timelines AND getting a second chance with you. So, uh, sorry."

Terezi shows no sign of having heard. She continues with the silent treatment and reading the file in front of her, fingers skimming the type. You wonder if she's expecting something else, or just trying to keep you off balance. You venture an, "Um..."

A solitary finger lifts from the file, begging silence, or a moment. Shortly Terezi lays the file flat on the desk and closes. Here dead eyes fix on you while her mouth parts slightly and she sniffs. She regards you like this for a long moment before,

"So it was guilt that drove you to drop me, push everyone away and ignore the lot of us for years."

"Um." Christ, you're eloquent today. "Yeah, I guess."

Terezi gets up and walks, stalks really, to the chair next to the couch and drags it around to face you. She seats herself with an air of judgement and you think that the past decade has made her really good at intimidating people. Back ramrod straight, legs crossed primly and fingers laced over her knee, she's all threatening angles.

"Did you intend to survive at the cost of all the other Daves?"

"What? Fuck no. Hell, when I got the call, all I fucking intended was to kill that goddamn motherfucker so hard his death would be felt at Big Bang."

"And would you say it is a safe assumption that all the other Daves felt the same way?"

"Hang on, isn't that leading the witness?"

A brief shark grin. "The term is 'objection.' And yes, possibly, if this were a trial."

"Oh sweet. Not on trial. Can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad. Does our valiant hero disappear, executed sans trial, or is this pre-trial."

"This isn't a trial, it's an interrogation."

"Oh well that makes me feel a-"

"Answer the question, Mr. Strider."

You blank for a second. "Oh. Yeah, I guess."

"And with such unity of purpose, all the Daves did their best to carry out their sole intention of killing Lord English. Of which you were the only one to survive."

"Right. Hence the guil-"

"Quiet. Were you the most skilled Dave there?"

The question had occured to you before as you'd tortured yourself over how you could have survived. Shrugging helplessly, you answer, "No idea?"

"Perhaps the luckiest?"

You swallow, hard. "Maybe."

"So you, Dave Strider, admit to being guilty of surviving a personal apocalypse by virtue of more or less random chance."

Silence. 

"Dave Strider, do you know what is wrong with that statement?"

A slow shake of your head.

 ** _"You can't be guilty of something that isn't a crime, YOU DUMBASS!"_**

Her shriek is piercingly loud and she whips a pillow at you with authority. It paffs quietly off your face and lands in your lap. You fix your glasses. You fiddle with the pillow. You wait. Terezi calms herself and spears you with another look.

"And you didn't tell us all of this back then, why?"

"Well shit, let's see... first no one could fucking believe we managed it, then everyone was so damn happy that being all 'Well shit guys, sorry, not your Dave, don't get me wrong I'm cool with y'all being alive, but in my timeline you're not!' was pretty much going to nuke everyone's good mood permanently and maybe I didn't want more on my head."

Silence. And, after a while,

"And why not just tell me?"

You look up at her. "Aw hell, TZ, that woulda been worse."

"So ditching me was better?"

"Of course fucking not! That's what I'm apologizing for! I was a douchebag! I treated you like shit so here I am apologizing! It's unforgiveable but I-"

And Terezi's cane whaps against your knees from behind the chair. How did it even GET there?

"Silence! It is not the suspect's right to determine the heinousness of his crimes and whether they can be forgiven."

Her furious expression softens a bit. "But as the investigator of this case, I see no guilt and no reason to withold forgiveness."

She stands and approaches, and for a shocked moment you think she's going to give you a hug. "Barring nub-drubbings, of course."

And she proceeds to go to town on your head. Bloody hell, you'd seen her berate the other trolls with her cane before, but to be on the receiving end was something else. Between the ows, get-offs, stoppits and more ows, you manage to kick her off to the side, whereupon she eventually pounces on the couch beside you. You brace for further drubbings to your ribs, but it ain't happening. Instead she's staring at you intently.

"Also, I think I owe you some small apology."

"Uh, what." Yep, still rockin' the eloquence.

"It's not like you dumped me all at once. I rationalized it at first as you being too keen on creating this universe, claiming the prize. I kept rationalizing until it was clear we were done when I should have been investigating. I did not want to push you in case that just accelerated matters falling apart between us. Unprofessional of me! I should have kept personal and business together and relentlessly pursued you until I had the truth. I am sorry that I did not."

You stare at her and try to take in everything she just threw at you. You're pretty sure that you must look like an idiot, but,

"That is some pants-on-head retarded logic there TZ. But considering what I've just vomited up, yeah, no problem apology accepted."

"Good!" She springs up and stalks back to her desk, where she picks up the file and plunks down in her seat again. 

"So, uh, we cool?"

"Of course not coolkid! You and I will be cool when you have done your cool best to cooly apologize to each and every last one of our number whom you have cooly alienated. All you did here today was confess to nothing and be forgiven for it."

You suddenly understand jack shit. 

\--

"Oh come on! A 5mm? I'm gonna sweat to death down there!"

"Sorry Aradia, we're working with what we can get, and what we got in your size was a 5mm wetsuit."

"Goddammit, I may as well dive in fucking denim!"

"I doubt you want to be giving the current more to work with..."

"Oh shove it" You fume as you regard the wetsuit nastily. You're not entirely certain why there's a 5mm even IN Jordan Then again, considering you've yet to see anyone even remotely in your dimensions, you should probably be thankful this thing is even in country. But considering how bloody warm you're going to be down there, you're not going to be happy about it.

"Got the briefing?"

"Yeah, reviewed the damn thing at breakfast, then listened to the prof give the run down. Straight forward stuff today, map the wrecks furthest extent and gridding it out."

"Cool. You'll be happier about the rest of the gear. Light-weight. You can find it out front."

You nod and reluctantly snatch up the too-thick wetsuit they've issued you. Only a half but still. You were looking to get AWAY from the heat. Alternia may have been hotter than Earth, but you've gotten used to stuff like air conditioning and fans. Out front of the camp, near the riverbed, is a tent with a series of lockers. A few of the others have set up and are going through their checks. More than necessary, but you spot a few newbies and nod. There's little enough for them to fuck up, so this is a good time for them to get their feet wet.

You bite your tongue to keep the giggle down.

Dunking your suit in the provided tank, you make your way to one of the shut lockers and draw out your BCD and gear. You hang it nearby and strip. Sandals are kicked up into the locker's bottom and your cargo shorts and top follow. In your swimsuit, you make your way to where the gravity shower is set up, ignoring people's stares. Even in a plain blue one-piece, there's not a lot to left to the imagination. Even though you'd made it quite clear you're taken this time around, you have to comment,

"Tongues go _back_ in the heads, ladies and gentlemen."

There's a round of bashful snickers as you get doused quickly and then it's time to force your extremely solid body into a skin-tight wetsuit. It's never much fun. As difficult as it is for humans, your skin and muscles have a lot less give than theirs. It's for that reason that once you're squared away in the damn suit that you turn down a nublet's offer of weights. Water-retaining rumble spheres aside, you already fucking sink like a rock.

Seeing to the rest of your gear, you take a full tank instead of everyone else's half. Early on in your scuba training you learned that in addition to everything else your body did differently than humans, you sucked in quite a bit more air. Not enough to ever endanger your life, but diving was about being prepared. 

Once everyone looked like they were around, you called for attention.

"Alright, anyone still missing?"

After an eventual chorus of no's you continue.

"Good. Head down to the water and suit up."

The lot of you hit water. The professor's right hand is your pair and does and idiot check while you attach your mask. With your horns, it would be suspiciously impossible to work a normal mask over your face, but you've found a model with a strap that clips on the sides of the mask. The others thought it was weird the first time, but there's much weirder about you now to them. After everything's set up, you pair the rest off, new kids with staff. Then begins the awkward job of wading backwards into the current. The mud sucks at your feet as you slog in, and it takes forever for you get deep enough to submerge and put on flippers. As you head deeper into the river, the cool of it finally wears off as the wetsuit does its job. The job you don't want it to do. You roll your eyes and consider going suitless the next time. When your group reaches the site, a few signals gets everyone to their areas. You take up a rotating position to monitor progress and the nublets. 

Mapping out the area is a fairly straight-forward business, and you see a few staff instructing the students to take over the process. Others simply signal the students to watch closely. Presumably, they know their partners' proficiency at this. You've always been terrible at IDing people underwater, at a distance. In any case, by the end of this dive, the students will ideally have a better handle on what it is they are expected to do. 

Time passes, and you mark it with the regular, rasping breaths you take through the regulator. It is getting irritatingly warm down here, and your hopes of a cool, relaxing day are pretty well dashed. During one of your circles, you see a student foundering a bit and kicking up an excessive amount of silt, to the point where they probably can't see their staff member's signals. You shake your head and descend.

You can sort of see into the silt cloudand reach out to tap the student on the elbow. They turn and you can tell he's confused by the lack of visibility. You signal him to rise and stop kicking. Then, signalling to the staff member to take over and demonstrate how to avoid kicking up silt, leave him to mull over his mistake. And hopefully learn from it. 

In the mean time, you descend into the cloud to see if anything interesting goodies were unearthed. As the shadows cast by the brown silt envelope you, a sense of deju vu crawls up your back. You're not sure what it is about this situation, but you're put in mind of... something. You poke the idea in your head for a bit and when it doesn't resolve into anything you turn your attention back to the riverbed. Visibility being what it is, you very nearly have to jam your face into the floor before you see anything. So when a brown, diaphanous girl with a sharktooth-grin leaps from the river bed, you scramble backwards in shock and let out a surprised yelp filling the water with a burst of bubbles.

Thankfully you have the presence of mind not to spit out the fucking mouthpiece as you wave your hands in front of you, hyperventilating in shock. The silt-cloud is already dispersing and you blink behind your mask. There's no sign or shape of goggles, horns or a loosely-tied sarong but your heart is pounding and a name dead for twelve years is on your lips. You still your breathing and erratic heart and carefully maneuver yourself out of the cloud and into clearer water. You catch a signal from the prof's right hand, calling you to take up your circling position again, while he goes down for an inspection. No one seems to have noticed your momentary spasm. Still, you spend the rest of the dive trying not to see fluttering kicks or hear playful giggles out of the corner of your eye.

You break the surface of the water like a pre-historic shark, your tank rising before you and marking your location to the crew. The air is warm against your forehead and slow steady kicks of your legs carry you shorewards. You're again reminded of the basic differences between humans and trolls as you outpace the other divers. You keep your kicks slow and regular, but maintain their power, trying not to show your tension. It's an active struggle not to gasp for clear air, so you swap the regulator for a snorkel as you power your way to shore. The flippers come off as the riverbed rises before you. Getting your feet underneath you, you straighten, taking the weight of the gear easily. The dive "center" is a short way up the shore, closer to the camp and you ditch your gear their with the bare minimum of care. By the time everyone's done hauling their gear back, you've slammed your locker shut and are hurrying back to your tent.

"Hey Aradia," someone calls.

"Later, I'm just going to be doing reports in my tent for a while!" is your response as you rush past.

You swipe the tentflap aside and almost hurl yourself onto your cot. Instead of crushing it though, you fall to your hands and knees and try not to through up. You don't, because it's not that kind of nausea and you've seen and spoken to the dead before. You just thought you'd left that all behind. 

When you do curl into the cot, horns hanging off on side, you grip the pillow to your chest and pretend its Dave.

Your dreams are filled with shifting clouds of silt, but these do not have the decency to stay brown. They part like light through a prism into all the colours of the spectrum. So when lithe arms unfold from the cloud to wrap you in hug, you accede and murmur,

"Hello again, Feferi."

\--

The basalt ashes of the volcanic beach waft up as you stride towards a feeling familiar, but distant. In the distance, a single sonorous _**tick**_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: AO3's posting interface runs like shit on Android Jelly Bean. You try editing span classes like this. Shit be hella slow, crawlin along like slug that done shot itself in the foot and be tryin to check itself into ER but oh no George Clooney's too fine and what the fuck was I talking about a second ago.
> 
> Shoutout to people who let me crash with them and don't read my bullshit online but whatever. Here's to hopefully not another two months before I update again!


	17. Jawdropper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and your legs just don't stride that way

You're going nuts. That's what you're getting out of this. When you came to this dig, you were eager, happy and friendly. Now, after days of catching glimpses of a sarong fluttering in the wind, of horns in dug-out walls and whispers of giggles in the sound of glassware. You'd never had a problem with ghosts before. But that was when they were still real, when you could speak to them, almost touch them.

Now you know what it feels like to be haunted. Now when you dig, you're high-strung, irritable and snappish. The issue isn't just that you're seeing ghosts. It's more about not knowing what it is _really_. Is it really Feferi's ghost? God knows you'd traipsed about the dreambubbles with her enough you should be able to tell. But that was back when you were fighting for your lives and the universe besides. Anything like ghosts or dreambubbles should have...gone away when you all created this new universe. 

The fact that you don't know what became of the dreambubbles both worrisome and not. After all, they could have survived and this could really be Feferi bleeding over. On the other hand, you could have condemned countless souls to oblivion. And that's what's starting to bother you. You're beginning to wonder if these glimpses, these visions are some kind of psychological repercussions; plainly put: guilt. So your choices are actually seeing ghosts again or you're starting to lose it.

You wonder if this is how Dave feels.

\--

This feels like the hardest thing you've ever done. And that really should fucking tell you something about yourself. Lord English? Nope. Visiting Rose for Christmas? Nah, brah. Breaking your leg and losing all the jobs and everything you'd worked for on your own this past near-decade? Not even in the running. That shit's small change.

No, the hardest thing that you've ever faced is right here on Hellmurder Island, attempting to get on with Terezi's order to you. You've dragged yourself around on crutches again, having spent the early morning with Jade trying to figure out a way to heal your leg quicker. She wasn't much help, but hey, she doesn't think there's a downside to living on an island with a bunch of mad doctors, quacks and trolls.

Speaking of which, you pull up outside the their residence again, slightly out of breath. You shoulder your way in and for once Terezi's nowhere to be seen. Oh thank Christ. That makes this slightly more tolerable. No way this would go easy if she was there staring, tongue lolled out, mouth full of razor blades and cackling like a madwoman as she got some kind of sick revenge.

It realy should fucking say something about you that the hardest thing you've ever done is apologizing to Karkat Vantas.

\--

You've spent most of your day trying to ignore the suggestion of webbed feet idly kicking over the rim of your dig square as you carefully unearth and brush off artifacts. At the very least, you've been successful at the ignoring part. The digging part... Well there are sophomores clearing their spaces faster than you. It had gotten to the point where your boss had to swing by yesterday.

"Slow day, Aradia?" 

"Uh, yeah, sorry prof. I guess the heat's getting to me?"

"Haha! Finally getting old like the rest of us eh? I remember when you could set up half the camp by yourself, no problem and then be ready to dig the rest of the day. Just remember to stay hydrated. If you're not feeling well, no shame in saying so and taking a break."

And you'd taken him up on his offer, no problem. Maybe a day out of the sun would help. You did some reports, helped some freshman with theirs and crashed early. But today it was the same crap. You really kinda just want to scream at the half-seen spectre to fuck off or just TELL you what she bloody well wanted. But no, instead you just bite down and try to continue your work. 

By the end of the day you've managed some progress, but that's only because there's something hypnotic about cleaning artifacts and your hallucinations/illusions faded into the background. That doesn't stop you from hearing a gurgling giggle when you haul yourself out of your pit. You go to dinner desperately hoping Dave will be online.

\--

You take deep breath and nudge the door to Karkat's lab open. There's some massive, green-glowing generator thing taking up the majority of the room and a dozen consoles and other science-y bullshit thingers that you have no idea what they do. And slumped in a chair is a grouchy excuse for a troll.

Deep breath.

"Hey uh, Vanta-"

"Busy, don't care, fuck off."

"Look, I nee-"

"Not interested, continue fucking off."

You get an uncharacteristic flash of anger and nearly go Vantas on Karkat's ass. But you suck it up. Maybe this'll go easier during dinner or some shit. You turn to fuck off.

"Strider."

You look over your shoulder. Karkat has reached over his shoulder to present you his fist. _Goddamn, champ's gonna make me tear up._

You hobble over and pound it. His only reply is,

"And now you can go back to fucking off."

\--

It's not that dinner is any better or worse today than any other given day. You'd shovel it down regardless of how it tastes on account of needing to replenish your energy. You really don't need any further lethargy, considering how much you've been slacking off. But dinner is really hard to enjoy when you just want to curl up with your laptop and talk to Dave for a bit.Your co-workers try to engage you in the usual story-telling and offer drinks later. The latter sounds genuinely tempting and you tell them maybe after low-power time.

On your way back to your tent, you check the dinged-up, hard-wearing piece of steel and leather that passes as your watch. It's roughly the time that Dave would be online, so you figured you're justified in hurrying this time. You're hurrying towards Dave, that's right, and not to get out of the night air, away from spectral hallucinations. _Yep, that's sure what's going on here._

You flop back on the cot and bring up your laptop out of your bag. Connecting to the satellite signal, you've almost booted Trollian before you've connected. Idly you wonder why the lot of you never got around to unifying Pesterchum and Trollian. _Probably a lack of Sollux,_ you think fondly. Once you're connected, it's a brief jaunt to disappointment as Dave hasn't logged in. To occupy yourself, (read: distract) you log in to the university library website and go trawling for sources while you wait.

\--

You hobble your broke ass back to the main complex. _One Vantas down, one Harley to go._ As fucking difficult as you thought dealing with Karkat was going to be, dealing with Jade ought to be easy as pie. The reality is probably going to be hella different. You stick your head in to the lab where the two of you were trying to come up with some physio, but naturally she's not there. The rest of the first floor of the massive complex gets covered and before you risk your life and fine, fine bod taking the stairs, you stop a pair of grad students.

"Yo, kiddos, any idea where Harley's gotten off to?"

"Gone jungling, old man."

"Old man?" You arch a non-ironic eyebrow at her.

"Kiddos?" 

"Touche." Yeah ok, this one passes. "So any idea when she's gonna be back, cuz I don't wanna be pinin' away for her all "oh noes, what if Harley has run out of ammunition for whatever fuckhuge gun she's whipped out from god-knows-where while being jumped by the sabre-tooth bitchcat of Hellmurder Island."

The two students stare for a moment before the chick snorts out a laugh and the dude goes,

"Do you even, like, have to breathe man?"

"Fuck no. Breathing's for pussies who can't go six rounds in a rap battle."

"ANYWAYS, the professor will probably be back sometime during or after breakfast. Hang around in the caf and you'll probably see her demolish whatever's for dinner."

"Right, gotcha, thanks." And you turn to hobble on off to your room to grab your laptop.

"Well, you've got the anti-social part of the PTSD down pat."

"The hell?" You'd give her a glare, but that would break your finely crafted visage of chill indifference.

"You've been here, like, what? Three weeks? You haven't even made an effort to get to know others around here."

"Yeah, look I just finished dealing with Karkat, so I really don't feel up to playin' icebreakers with y'all cuz I feel like the fucking Titantic."

The dude speaks again, "Dealing with Professor Vantas? Dude, that deserves a beer at least."

"Yes, yes it does. ESPECIALLY this early in the day."

"So quit being such a tight ass and come chill for a bit." She starts down the hall and waves for you to follow.

Eventually, you're half-collapsed on a couch and displaying your mad skills by laying down sick rhymes for them. Halfway through a bottle of beer you realize, you've forgotten the laptop. _Meh, I'll grab it before breakfast._

\--

You can hear the _chunk-chunk_ sound of the lights being cut as Trollian _bings_ at you. Sighing in frustration, you hammer out your message as fast as you can.

apocalypseArisen [AA] has begun trolling turntechGodhead [TG]  
AA: hey dave!  
AA: not much time, abt to go on lowpower  
AA: i'm goingh stir-crazy here, hallucinating feferi of al people  
AA: tell you abt it later  
AA: bye, love you!

apocalypseArisen [AA] has ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG]

\--

Your fork is frozen halfway to your mouth, which is incidentally wide open. Shit's a prime runway for the food-plane but we've got technical difficulties in the control tower guys, short-outs everywhere has anyone seen the fire extinguisher.

\--

_oh my god why did i say that_

\--

Still frozen here folks. The nameless bits of green and protein on the end of the fork droop desultorily and the bit on the end slides off, spattering the table with whitesauce. That still doesn't snap you out of staring at the text in front of you. Only when a mess of black hair and ruined labcoat slides in across from you and natters on do you complete the loadin pass of flight HI223 into your mouth and chew absent-mindedly. Eventually,

"Dave? Dave are you alright? You're bright red."

_Gawsh, I wonder why that is!_

"Nah Harley, you're seein' things. This is my naturally ruddy pigment, especially after hauling my ass all over your Wilderness Survival Campus lookin' for you."

"Oh sorry! I though you and Karkat would be, well, longer."

"Nope. Bro-fisted and walked the hell out of there."

"Uh-huh. Really Dave, I might not be Rose, but I can still see right through you."

You would shake your head in exasperation, but the stoic facade is too important. "You wound me babe."

"Fine, I'll drag the real story out of him."

"Hey, so long as I'm not around."

"Oh pssht." She waves you off for a moment and then looks more closely at you. "Does it really bother you so mu-"

It's your turn to wave it off. "Nah. But talk later, yeah?"

You thought that was a pretty smooh way to reassure her and pin her down for your apologies. Yeap. Dave Strider: master of distraction. Particularly of yourself. The students were right, she does demolish breakfast and you have to pack it in to keep up. With a nod to the kids, the pair of you make your way out.

\--

_no seriously girl, what the hell_

\--

When you flop onto your bed, and kick out the desk chair for Jade with a crutch, you reflect that this is the closest you're ever getting to a university dorm. Furntiure that's cheap as shit and can survive a direct nuclear bomb strike.

"So!" Jade says, plopping herself down. "What didja want to taaaalk about?"

The mock-wheedling way she dragged the word out leaves no doubt in your mind that Terezi's already told her. That, or she figured it out for herself, which is just as likely. At least this is Jade, so this should be over quickly.

"Yeah so, I've been a dick about the whole lone-survivor-of-my-timeline-and-not-telling to all of you and I just wanted to get on my knees, straight up go Henry IV and walk through freezing snow to beg your holiness' forgiveness but hey look, you live on a tropical murderparadise so you're just gonna have to deal with a "Sorry I've been an ass."

"You're forgiven!" Jade beams at you. 

"Thank Christ that's over with. Feels like Saved by the Bell but without the lukewarm heartfelt ending or the cheesy sequels."

"Yep! Now real talk time." She leans forward. "Are you really bothered by polyamory?"

You shrug. "Like I said, nah. Took me by surprise is all. I always thought that was more of a troll thing, but really what hell do I know?"

"You sure? You always look more like you're kinda weirded out by it"

You huff a sigh and fall back on the bed. "I guess I kinda am? Don't get me wrong Jade, you're still one of my best friends no matter how badly I ballsed that up, I aint gonna think less of you for it. But..."

"But???"

"Look, Harley. I grew up with a machismo and testosterone-bound bro whupping my ass on a daily basis and now make/made my dough spinning at dives and running errands. I do not exactly have a background or lifestyle that has exposed me to this sort of thing. So while I am not doing a perfect acrobatic triple back-flip off the handle, yes I am weirded out by the idea. Nothin' else though. You get up to your nasty with Vantas and whoever you like. We're always gonna be cool."

"You mean it?"

The tone in her voice makes you crane your neck up and forward. A little bit of need and a little bit of challenge, like she's been expecting more of an argument.

"Hells yes. You stomp societal expectation however you see fit."

"Hehe, good!" A grin splits her face and in that moment, there's something off about her, something that Rose would know a better word for. Something unreal, distant... you struggle for the word... _fey._ "Hey, after all, we're the gods. Society should conform to OUR expectations."

Chills down your spine and you prop yourself up to look over your shades at her. "Sure thing, mighty creatrix. Just try not to get dog-slobber everywhere playing with all your toys."

"Anything else on your mind before I bail, oh fellow mighty creator?" she giggles and rocks forward out of her chair to give you a kiss on the cheek. It's too close to your lips and lingers just a bit too long for you to miss the invitation. For an instance, your eyes slip to ample cleavage as full lips part as they leave your skin. Time seems to slow to a crawl and you have to check to see if you had anything to do with it as hot breath grazes your cheek and ear.

"Nah, we're good." You surprise yourself with how easy that came, and Jade surprises you with a complete lack of disappointment. You're almost insulted on behalf of the aforementioned machismo and testosterone. She nods and says, 

"Have a good day!"

\--

There is absolutely no way you're going to have a good night's sleep like this. You are clutching at the pillow in the dark as you second guess just about everything you've seen and done today. Between the hallucinations (if that's what they are) and your rushed confession to Dave, your thoughts are well and truly scattered and they're bouncing around in your head like pool balls after a pretty good break in a universe where inertia just ain't a thang.

_Heh. Wow, he really has gotten to me._

You try to put a good spin on your hasty words, and it's not hard, apart from telling him that you're suffering from some kind of hallucinations. That part, the constant reminder that you've got ghost problems disrupts the spin and keeps your balls from sinking into neat holes. Or something. God, you're even worse with metaphors than he is.

You haul yourself upright and jam the pillow under your head. Who knows, maybe sleeplessness will be a blessing and you'll be able to beg off from work tomorrow to try sort your shit out. Staring at the slow, subtle billowing of your tent's roof eventually lulls you to sleep.

The moment you hit the dreams, you remember.

\--

You dream of the ashen beach, of the slow gurgling of the lapping lava. The dreamscape is much the same, all rolling cogs and grinding girders. In the distance, you catch something flitting through the sky. Strange, since you've not seen a flying minion here yet, in this liminal dreamspace. You set off in her direction.

_Wait, what? Her?_

**_tock_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's delay brought to you by minor medical inconveniences and the number FML


	18. Interlude 4: ==> Karkat: Get help.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THAT'S NOT WHAT MOIRALLEGIANCE MEANS FUCKASS

CG: I'M TELLING YOU, SHE'S FUCKING INSANE.   
EB: come on man, that's not nice.   
CG: I HAVE NO FUCKING INTEREST IN YOUR DRIBBLING HALF-BRAINED CONCEPTS LIKE "NICE" AT THIS POINT EGBERT.   
CG: SHE HAS GONE HEADFIRST OFF THE DEEP END, GRABBING DESPERATELY FOR ORIFICE-VIOLATING TENTACLES OF MAD FUCKING GODS.   
EB: no way, i spoke to her just the other day.   
EB: i am telling you, jade is fine.   
EB: you're just over-reacting because of your alien romance nonsense.   
CG: OK ONE, IF YOU CALL KISMISITUDE ALIEN ROMANCE NONSENSE ONE MORE TIME I WILL JAM YOUR HEAD SO FAR UP YOUR SPINCTER YOU WILL BE ACTUALLY, LITERALLY TALKING SHIT FOR ONCE.   
CG: TWO, SHE SOUNDED FINE BECAUSE SHE CANNOT TALK TO YOU ABOUT ANYTHING MORE COMPLICATED THAN ECTOBIOLOGY SO SHE DIDN'T TALK ABOUT WHAT SHE'S DOING.   
EB: aha! but she did! she's working on new energy ideas.   
EB: she's going to make something that can fix the world's energy problems.   
CG: OH GOOD, EGBERT THINKS HE HAS A BASIC UNDERSTANDING OF THE ENERGY CRISIS AND THE SCALE OF THE FUCKING PROBLEM.   
CG: TELL ME, OH WISE ONE WHO BY SOME FUCKING MIRACLE ISN'T TALKING FROM HIS RECTUM YET, HOW MUCH ENERGY IS THAT GOING TO PRODUCE?   
EB: um, a lot?   
EB: like, isn't that the point?   
CG: YES YOU PHENOMENALLY DUMB EXCRESANCE.   
CG: THAT IS PRECISELY THE FUCKING PROBLEM HERE.   
CG: HARLEY HAS GONE SO APESHIT FUCKING RETARDED THAT SHE IS GOING AHEAD WITH THESE IDEAS WITHOUT MUCH IN THE WAY OF TESTING AND SAFETY.   
CG: BECAUSE SHE THINKS THAT OUR SHITTY FUCKING EXCUSE FOR GODHOOD SOMEHOW GIVES US THE RIGHT TO SUBJECT THIS QUITE FRANKLY DISMAL ATTEMPT AT A CIVILIZATION TO OUR EVERY FUCKING WHIM.   
EB: oh.   
CG: AND THIS WHIM IN PARTICULAR WOULD MAKE A NUCLEAR MELTDOWN LOOK LIKE A STEAMING HOT BATH COMPLETE WITH GRUBOILS AND MOSSWINE IF IT WENT WRONG.   
CG: DOES THIS SOUND LIKE THE MACHINATIONS OF SOMEONE IN CONTROL OF THEIR FACULTIES, INFERIOR AND HUMAN THOUGH THEY MIGHT FUCKING BE?   
EB: so is that why you're constantly shooting her down and sabotaging her at presentations and conferences and stuff?   
EB: you don't want her to blow the world to pieces?   
CG: FUCK YOU I HAVE NEVER SABOTAGED SHIT.   
CG: ALL I HAVE DONE IS DEMONSTRATE HOW FUCKING UNSTABLE HER BULLSHIT CONSTRUCTIONS AND THEORIES ARE TO LESSER FUCKING MINDS IN AWE OF THE GREAT JADE HARLEY.   
CG: ALL I HAVE EVER FUCKING DONE FOR HER IS TO THWART HER DUMB SHIT TO INSPIRE HER TO GREATNESS.   
CG: SO SHE WOULD MAYBE PUSH HERSELF AND COME UP WITH SOME BETTER FUCKING OUTPUT, WORTHY OF THAT BLINDING BRILLIANT NOVA IN HER THINKPAN.   
EB: ...   
CG: AND SHE WOULDN'T BLOW THE WORLD TO SHIT.   
CG: OK SO MAYBE THAT'S AN OUTLIER CHANCE, BUT PROBABLY SHE'D JUST USHER IN A REALM OF ETERNAL NIGHT AND WINTER.   
CG: COAT THE PLANET IN SO MUCH FUCKING SNOW AND ICE THAT THOSE GENETIC FAILURES YOU'D LAUGHINGLY CALL CHILDREN WOULD NOT KNOW WHAT WARM MEANT IF YOU SMEARED THEM IN THE FECES OF A YAK   
EB: oh dude, ew!   
EB: if you can't keep this PG-13 i am turning this conversation right around.    
EB: why don't you just tell her this stuff?   
CG: OH MY EVERLOVING FUCK HAVE YOU NOT BEEN LISTENING SINCE I STARTED THIS CONVERSATION?!   
CG: I TOLD YOU, SHE DOESN'T LISTEN TO ME.   
CG: "OH KARKLES IT'LL BE FINE, STOP WORRYING MY THEORIES ARE FINE, YOU NEED MORE SLEEP."   
CG: NO FUCK YOU HARLEY, SOME OF US CAN'T FUCKING THINK AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT AND NEED TO MAKE UP TIME BY TRADING SLEEP FOR WORK.   
CG: SO I NEED SOME FUCKING BACKUP HERE EGBERT.   
CG: AND MAY WHATEVER PASSES FOR AN OMNISCIENT FORCE THESE DAYS HAVE MERCY ON OUR SOULS, BECAUSE I AM ASKING JOHN EGBERT FOR THAT HELP.   
EB: haha, love you to buddy.   
EB: ok, ok! i'll talk to her!   
EB: i just don't really know what to say.   
CG: APPEAL TO HER KINDER NATURE, MAKE HER WORRY FOR ALL THE DISGUSTING LITTLE BALLS OF HAIR ON THIS PLANET.   
CG: GROUND HER, REMIND HER THAT PEOPLE HAVE LIVES AS WELL.   
CG: I KNOW THE CONCEPT OF MOIRALLEGIANCE IS FOREIGN TO YOU MORONS BUT THAT'S WHAT SHE REALLY FUCKING NEEDS RIGHT NOW.   
EB: someone to calm her down?   
CG: I KNOW I SHOULD'T BE SURPRISED BY YOUR INABILITY TO COMPREHEND COMPLEX TROLL IDEAS BUT WOW, WAY TO MISS THE FUCKING POINT DUMBASS.   
CG: NO, CALM DOESN'T FUCKING ENTER INTO IT.   
CG: JADE HARLEY IS A GODDAMN SPECTACULAR INTELLECTUAL AND PHYSICAL WHIRLWIND AND FUCK YOU IN YOUR LOAD GAPER IF YOU THINK YOU CAN CALM THAT SHIT DOWN.   
CG: I WILL FUCKING FIGHT YOU IF YOU TRY.   
CG: NO, JADE HARLEY NEEDS SOMEONE TO PROTECT THE WORLD FROM HER.


	19. Slowly Waking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here we are at the beginning of the end

GA: If You Need A Way Out Allow Me To Offer An Alternative To What I Must Assume Are Your Hyperbolic Statements of Suicide  
GA: Given Your Status Quo Of Level-Headedness And Joie De Vivre  
GA: Your PhD Will Require Quite A Bit Of International Travel If I Am Not Mistaken  
AA: well yeah  
AA: can’t exactly get all the information in one library  
AA: and a lot of the texts are too old to ship around  
GA: In Several Weeks I Will Be In Paris For A Conference In Which My Works Will Be Shown  
AA: you mean a fashion show 0_0  
AA: wooooooooow, that’s kind of cool!  
GA: Despite My Efforts In Depicting It As A Conference To Pique Your Interest More Effectively Yes I Suppose It Is A Fashion Show   
AA: ehehe  
GA: My Point Is That I Will Have Apartments In Paris At That Time So If You Should See Fit To Visit Me At That Juncture I Would Enjoy Having You Visit   
GA: If I Am Not Prying Overly Much I Believe You Would Do Well To Have A Break From Your Studies If You Believe These Hallucinations Or Visitations To Be Stress Based  
GA: Perhaps I Can Help You To Regulate Your Stress Level And Restore Your Peace Of Mind  
AA: ahahaa oh wow I finally get hit by the maryam conciliatory charm!  
AA: inviting me to paris for a pale fling, you know how to show a girl a good time!  
GA: Not To Blare My Own Seacraft Signal But There Are Extensive Reasons I Have This Reputation   
AA: oooooo kanaya  
AA: i might swoon into your fabric pile  
GA: It Is Quite A Comfortable Pile  
GA: Full Of The Highest Quality Satins and Silks Artfully Draped Over Goose-Down Pillows  
GA: Very Conducive To The Exploration of Feelings And Motivations  
AA: ...but seriously kanaya i’ve given up on all this troll stuff  
AA: alternia’s dead and gone  
GA: I Am Aware Of Your Rejection Of Troll Cultural Mores And Wish To Respect Them To The Utmost  
GA: However I Am Also Your Friend And Wish To Point Out That While Alternia Is Gone Your Biology Remains The Same  
GA: You Are Not Yet Near Ripping Out Someone's Throat And I Would Not Wish You At All Near That Border  
AA: ...  
GA: It Will Only Be For A Few Days  
AA: ok

\--

It is unbelievably early when your laptop pings at you. You're sure that the sun is barely above the horizon. You blatantly ignore the sixth-sense that it is in fact 11:31 am, nevermind the clock on the task bar. You blink drowsily at the screen and squint against the harsh brightness. Even as you haul the laptop into bed, you grasp about for your shades.

What dependency?

TT: Hello.  
TG: morning  
TT: Oh, I do apologize brother dear. Did I wake you?  
TG: yeah not even going to dignify that with a response  
TT: Thank heavens I am not in need of charity in regards to my dignity then.  
TG: shit no  
TG: you got bags of that shit  
TG: gucci, dkny, versace all hangin off you  
TG: fresh from the knock off shops in China  
TT: Indeed, I must thank you for recommending them.  
TG: pfft yeah like I got dignity  
TT: No, I believe your orders were for self-confidence aviators  
TG: we are the best goddamn family ever  
TT: Quite. How go your efforts at therapy, if I may ask?  
TG: eh  
TG: no idea  
TG: the best is when karkat wants to help and makes us all play videogames and we all hand him his ass   
TG: listen rose i got something to say  
TT: I am sure that you do, but insofar as it is likely to be something more suitable to in-person than chat, please check your inbox.  
TG: what  
TT: Also, Jade informs me that the next touchdown for the seaplane is in about two hours so you may wish to get packed.  
TG: what  
TG: why is there an Air New Zealand ticket in my mail  
TT: I am going to take your obtuseness as a sign that you are merely sodden with sleep rather than any actual mental deficiency.  
TG: rose I cant accept this  
TG: shits like $3000  
TT: I will see you in a few days.  
TG: goddammit lalonde

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] is now an idle chum! --

 

\--

When you pack your bags, and march into your boss' office, no one seems to be too surprised. He is extremely understanding and masks his disappointment well. He assures you that pursuing your PhD instead of the dig will not affect your career. You almost believe him.

\-- 

Air New Zealand is still the best goddamn airline ever.

\--

Your first stop is in Greece, so of course you check out the Parthenon. It would be almost heretical and certainly unprofessional. And while it is certainly impressive and helps rekindle your passion for the past, you can't help but feel sad at the waste and active destruction of the site. 

What nonsense drives both human and troll to wreck and ruin their heritage?

\--

Of _course_ Rose has a chauffeur waiting for you when you stumble drunkenly out of the gate. It goes almost without saying. The sign he holds has your name in flowing hand-written purple script and he gracefully slides it under one arm and offers to take your bag.

"What," you begin, "are the chances that you're _not_ called Jeeves."

\--

In Germany you don't even bother with the history, and besides your next flight is the next day, so you do the done thing and hit a beer garden. And, being six three and two hundred and fifty pounds of troll, you proceed to drink the garden under the table.

To raucus cheers, you bench a...bench of Germans and tourists as the night gets on. At the end of it is a grey skinned girl clapping and grinning enthusiastically.

\--

Instead of a limo, you get a beat up Buick convertible. The irony of it is delicious. You have to smile; despite more than a decade, Rose understands. It makes you feel kind of guilty, which you figure is intended. The woman's reaction to family has always been passive aggressive at best.

You are beginning to nurse a hangover when the driver pulls into Rainbow Falls. 

\--

Kanaya meets you at the train station in a pale green dress and the appropriateness of that thought doesn’t escape you. Even as your heart beats a little bit faster, you wonder if her choice of clothing was deliberate. Silly question. When it comes to clothing and fashion, everything Miss Maryam does is deliberate. 

A quick, warm hug and the pair of you are off on the Metro. Kanaya explains that she’s a ways out of the city proper, seeing as how she does well for money, but not _that_ She’s no French-name-that-you-forget-in-two minutes-flat. Still, it’s on the Metro, has lovely little cafes and is surrounded by greenspace. 

“Sounds lovely,” you remark.

She flashes you a small smile. “It is.”

Once you’re there, you have to agree. It’s a cute little townhouse, three stories and narrow like nothing else on the block. You almost have to squeeze to get through the front door, and you both have to duck. It would look strange, you think, except you’re pretty sure even average-sized folk would have to duck. Inside, it’s less cramped by some architectural or design magic and Kanaya manages to show you to the guest room without either of you putting horn holes in anything. 

You very nearly collapse wholesale when you feel how soft the bed is and you have to fight to avoid falling back, arms spread wide. Kanaya leans against a wall and remarks, “I take it from the sudden change in your demeanour that the strain of your travel is finally catching up to you.”

“Oh man, you have no idea.”

“Come,” she gestures, “there’s more downstairs.

Curious, you follow her back downstairs, where she leads you into the living room. The couches have been moved back against the wall and in the midst of the floor is a waist-high pile of fabric and pillows. The pillows look as soft as felt, and the fabric is draped tastefully over, under and around them in swirling patterns. You swallow, hard.

“I know it doesn’t look like much,” _HA_! “but I have become quite adept at assembling comfortable piles of a temporary nature.”

She’s moved up to it, and fingers some fabric, smiling distractedly. You shift, unsure if you’re nervous, uncomfortable or what. Then her eyes catch yours and you’re hit by an immediate sense of calm and control and _oh WOW, she’s good._ When she holds up a hand to you in invitation, there’s barely a quiver of uncertainty before you take it and curl up with her in the pile.

\--

There's no fucking snow this time as you stand in front of that door, thank fuck for that at least. Rose answers the door and regards you cooly.

"You look like hell."

"Air New Zealand's got free booze on international flights." Yeah, that should cover everything. The best excuses are reasons.

"Aha." She moves to the side and gestures for you to come in. "So what will it be, hair of the dog or a tonic less alcoholic?"

You think distantly of asking for more alcohol, like a man in a five hour meeting considers killing himself. But no. "Water. Or AJ if you've got it."

"Of course I have the fridge stocked with your beverage of choice. There is also cider and apple vodka."

"Lalonde, you tryin' to turn me into an alcoholic?"

"No, I just thought that perhaps the following sessions may be easier with alcohol."

“Whoa whoa whoa. We talked about this. No more amateur hour psychology. I ain’t-”

You stop as she shows you into what you can totally imagine her calling a parlour. Quite prominently displayed on the coffee table are the Scratch Doctors. 

“How the hell did you get those?”

“Oh your landlord was very understanding about your need to engage in creative release following your traumatic experience.”

Staring at her, you say, “You didn’t.”

“Just because you said no psychology on _you_ brother dearest, does not mean I don’t get to play pretend anyways.”

Your eyes narrow behind your shades as she wanders off to the kitchen. You flop into a loveseat. It’s something you’ve gotten good at - flopping. Especially in a cast. Hard to do right, and you’re pleased to announce that you have mastered the art. So when Rose returns with your apple juice, you are artfully sprawled across the seat, your wounded leg up on the table.

“So if you ain’t gonna try shove me into therapy with these, as I assume you are too much a gentlelady to go back on your word-” she snorts. “-what’s the deal, Lalonde?”

She sips from a tall glass of you-don’t-know-what but its green and looks unappetizing as shit. Wow, a situation where that line was actually appropriate. From the face she makes, it looks like she’s of the same opinion. Still, she doesn’t put it down. Instead she fixes you with a stare that’s at once penetrating and uncertain.

“You recall the last time you were here and we dabbled in composition?”

You gulp down the apple juice and goddamn that hit the spot. Your headache doesn’t recede, but you feel a little more alive. You take a break to nod. 

“Well, Kanaya and I were having dinner with my agent and his partner, who mentioned that he was in the music business. He seemed interested in what we’d put together.”

“Oh hell, don’t tell me you played him anything,” you say, half rising out of your seat, but Rose is already holding up a placating hand. 

“I did not, anticipating this reaction. I told him you would prefer to submit something more...crafted.” She takes a larger sip, and then just bolts the entire thing down, apparently determined to get that over with. “So, let us, as they say, jam.”

\--

Trinity’s library is lovely and for a week, you are left blessedly by yourself and something starts to take shape out of your outline and notes. Kanaya, regardless of what humans and trolls have thought of her, is really the best at what she does. For a week, you’re a proper academic, ensconced in walls and stacks of books, hunched over reading, writing or typing for twelve or more hours a day.

But you still manage to make your fair share of acquaintances, and have something approaching a social circle by the second week. Which is good, because that’s about when you’ve got a fleshed-out outline and are banging your head on the table because you still can’t come up with a way of expressing your argument clearly.

You only have so long here, put up in a spare dorm, so you technically have a deadline, at least for this part of the research. So stress increases and pushes out the wonderful peace and contentment that you took with you from Chez Maryam. You are distracted and naturally, that lends itself to further visitations from your grey-skinned spectre. 

The first time it happens, you’re scratching away at notes and notice the flutter of a multi-coloured wrap around still-growing hips. You grit your teeth and clutch the pencil so tight, you not only snap it, but crunch the wood and lead between your fingers. Your new acquaintances notice something’s wrong, and naturally enough figure it’s just grad school stuff. One month in, they take you clubbing. It’s a small joy to cut loose, lose yourself in the beat for a while. But eventually the music makes you think of Dave and so you drink more and harder. A girl half your size and a quarter your weight dances with you, grinds against you, and tries to keep up with you drinking.

In the bathroom, when she’s got her lips and teeth on your neck, you gasp his name, tense with shock and promptly drop her.

You don’t go back.

\--

When she gets home, Kanaya finds the two of you sprawled across each other on the couch and giggling drunkenly. She pauses, head cocked to the side, with an expression somewhere between curiosity, disapproval and amusement. Finally, she heaves an overdramatic sigh and picks up the bottle of wine Rose was working through sniffs at it before crinkling her nose.

“I go away for a month and find you inebriated in the middle of the on my return. Dave, you are truly a terrible influence.”

“Yup. That’s me in a nutshell. Rose’s homeless, penniless brother, a terrible influence. No idea why she let me into her house in the first place.” Your deadpan holds while you’re not looking at Rose and vice versa, but when the two of you sneak glances at one another at the same time, you both break down giggling again.

“And here I thought the objective of the this little visitation was some manner of musical collaboration. Tell me, did anything come of that?”

Now you’re not even bothering with giggling, you’re howling with laughter and smacking your cast. Rose is holding her sides and gasping for air while kicking her feet up and down on the couch. Kanaya’s now completely confused and beginning to understand that she’s missing something.

“Dearest,” Rose manages between heaving gasps for air and undignified chortles, “Why don’t you get out of your travelling clothes, have a nice shower and come back down and we’ll show you today’s mail.”

While Kanaya’s gone, you roll out from under Rose’s legs and take the apple vodka to make Maryam a drink. You’d stopped trusting Rose’s ability or interest in making _good_ drinks when you realized her method was “more vodka.”

By the time the troll gets back down, dressed in some ridiculous satin PJs, Rose has composed herself even if she’s still tipsy. But you don’t have a leg to stand on; you’re still sprawled across the couch. Lazily, you offer Maryam the glass with her drink in it. Rose gets up primly and presents Maryam with an envelope, clumsily resealed. It’s addressed to “Rose Lalonde/Dave Strider” and its fairly thick to boot.

Kanaya’s sipping from the martini glass as she reads the letter. She stops, lips still on the rim as she gets about halfway through, as her eyes widen. The sipping restarts and keeps going until she’s sucked down the entirety of the appletini. She holds the glass out to you and you head back to the kitchen to make her another. From what you can tell, she’s flipping through the contract until she’s at what you expect is the breakdown of payment. A blink. A long moment, then she calmly folds the letter and contract back up, smoothing and creasing it up all proper-like.

When you hand her a fresh drink, she toasts in your general direction, before taking a swig.

“That,” she says, “is a lot of money.”

“Holy fuck yes it is.”

“Quite.”

The first couple attempts at jamming with Rose were a goddamned mess and you ended up arguing when she should come in, or where you should scratch until finally she told you to just fuck off and let her play. You’d forgotten that you’d left the Doctors sampling and when you came back in the evening, you had a full suite of typically dark and moody Lalonde bowing. A lot of it was sloppy and harsh, not what you’d play at a recital, but hell, harsh was you were used to from Rose.

When she walked through the room in the evening, Rose mostly ignored you and sat down with her laptop to write or edit, hell if you knew. Hours later, she asked if you wanted a drink and you asked if she wanted to hear what you’d just cranked out.

That first rough remix, the bass of which vibrated the mansion when plugged into the stereo system, would eventually be the opening track of the album _Slick Fingering and Aural Pounding_ by Derse.

\--

The voice wakes you up moments before you're tossed out of bed, flailing and grabbing for something, anything to break your fall. 

"Oi, boring-Megido. Time to make like a boat an' wake."

You hit the floor like a sack of bricks and the empty dorm shudders with all three hundred-some pounds of your weight. You look up and standing in the top bunk of your bed is a pale grey girl with a slight tinge of fuchsia to her gills, more gaudy gold ornaments than you can count and an expression that says "Bored now."

She is also dead as fuck. You can tell, because of the white eyes. And being vaguely transparent.

"M-Meenah? How? What-?"

"Yeah, look, just because I take the time I want from the Noble Circlejerk instead of askin' for it like my totes uncool dancestor don't mean I got a whole lotta time here, so clam the fuck up and listen."

The spectre hops down from your bunk like it's actually affected by gravity and grabs you by the straps of your tank top. With strength, real physical strength, Meenah Peixes lifts you off the floor and brings you dangerously close to a mouth permanently locked in a standoffish snarl.

"I don't give a flyin' fishfuck about your drama down here, but the dreambubbles are gettin' all fillet whiny beaches who wanna glub with you lot. So you betta buoy up and put somefin together."

"But, but... what? Why me?"

Meenah looks at you like you're an idiot. "'Cuz you're a deadspeaker, doofish."

Suddenly you slip through her grip. The seatroll swears and looks at her fading hands. 

"Welp. See ya, boring-Megido."

"Wait! What am I supposed to do? I don't even know where to start!"

Meenah jams her hands in her pockets and shrugs. "Ask Shouty McNubs, he's workin' on somefin."

And just before she disappears, you hear the whisper of something, "An' give 'im my..." 

Well, shit. You rub your eyes to clear them of sleep and then consider how the hell you're going to get to Hellmurder Island. And what exactly makes you a deadspeaker in this world. Your PhD suddenly seems so very far away, and you remember what Kanaya said about figuring out busying yourself with things that matter to you.

There’s a lot on your plate, but there’s at least this little voice at the back of our head weeping for joy that you’re not going insane. You have things to _do_ again, important things and that sends a little tingle of excitement down your spine.

\--

Above the obsidian, above the lava and grinding gears, she turns and massive butterfly wings on her back expand. Carnelian dust glitters out from their passage, drifting lazily towards the ashen ground. 

A name is on your lips, and hers.

"What up-"

_**tick** _

You sit straight up in the guest bed with a gasp and look around wildly. You're not on LOHAC, you're in Rainbow fucking Falls. But you're slowly coming to realize that in your dreams you have been. 

Or at least part of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this chapter was legit supposed to have Palesmut in Paris, but I have discovered that I am absolutely balls at writing such thing. Just comes out saccharine sweet and I want to ball it up and practice armchair fadeaways on the garbage bin. So it goes into the folder with all the unfinished porn for [Behind the Scenes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/417203). Which also won't be updating any time soon, because writing porn suddenly got hard and I wish I knew why.
> 
> I apologize for the lack of updates, but I have... not necessarily lost interest, but I am experiencing a shortage thereof. I honestly got sick of writing the beta brats and tried dicking around with some of the alphas. Only to discover, yep, the only ones I can stand are Roxy and Meenah (ok, and Porrim, but holy hell she intimidates me). I'd post it, but so far only a few are worth uploading and they're already up. 
> 
> Anyways, enough rambling. Thank you for every kind comment, every inspiring word. You keep me going.
> 
> Also holy fuck I have been writing this for _a year and a half help_.
> 
> edit: i finally ripped that goddamn clown out of this work, because seriously, fuck that guy.


	20. Speaker of the Dreaming Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> will you follow me my friend  
> through the middle of our end

apocalypseArisen [AA] has begun trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

AA: so how's the attempting-to-contact-the-dreambubbles thing working out for you?  
CG: WHAT.  
CG: I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT.  
CG: CLEARLY THE SUN HAS BAKED YOUR FESTERING THINKPAN TO THE POINT WHERE IT CAN'T DISTINGUISH BETWEEN REALITY AND WILD DELUSIONAL FANTASIES.  
AA: sorry karkat, but I'm on to you 0u0  
AA: my cunning detective wiles set me on the trail of your attempts after sorting through seemingly-unrelated clues  
CG: OKAY 1: YOU NEED TO STOP TALKING TO TEREZI. ONE FUCKING TROLL OBSESSED WITH MYSTERIES AND SOLVING SHIT IS ENOUGH IN MY ALREADY OVERTAXED  
CG: 2: YOU'RE A FUCKING ARCHAEOLOGIST MEGIDO, GET YOUR BULGE OUT OF YOUR EAR.  
AA: an archaeologist is sort of like a detective!  
CG: OH PRAY TELL, HOW EXACTLY? THIS HAD BETTER BE ENTERTAINING ENOUGH TO DRAG ME AWAY FROM MY EXTREMELY IMPORTANT AND FUCKING EARTH-SHATTERING RESEARCH.  
AA: both get really cool hats!  
AA: 0u0  
CG: ...  
CG: I FUCKING GIVE UP. HERE I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO SPEW SOME CLICHED HOOFBEAST MANURE ABOUT INVESTIGATIVE SKILLS, LIVING ON THE EDGE, AND OTHER BRAIN-MELTINGLY STUPID LINES.  
CG: BUT NO, MUCH TO MY EVER-LASTING SHAME, I FORGOT THAT YOU ARE ONE OF THE LAST REMAINING PEOPLE ON THE PLANET WHO THINK FEDORAS ARE COOL  
AA: hey, lots of people think fedoras are cool!  
CG: MRAS AREN'T PEOPLE.  
AA: heheh  
AA: but seriously karkat, i know  
AA: meenah told me  
CG: WAIT WHAT. BACK THE FUCK UP.  
CG: MEENAH AS IN AEON-OLD KLEPTOMANIACAL SEADWELLER MEENAH?  
CG: MEENAH AS IN THE TYRIAN-BLOODED GHOST-GIRL THAT GOT LEFT BEHIND WITH, OH, YOU KNOW EVERYBODY ELSE WHO WAS EXPIRED?  
CG: DEAD?  
CG: LOCKED OFF FROM THIS UNIVERSE?  
AA: yeah that one, jeez  
AA: and before you start in on me, she said i could talk to her because i'm some kind of speaker for the dead   
CG: BECAUSE THAT DOESN'T SOUND CREEPY AS ALL GET THE FUCK OUT  
CG: OF COURSE IT SUITS YOU  
AA: hey!  
CG: HEY WHAT. ARE YOU SERIOUSLY GOING TO TRY DEFEND THAT?  
CG: IS THAT ARGUEMENT ACTUALLY GOING TO SPAWN, SHRIEKING INSUBSTANTIALLY WITH THE VOICES OF THE LOST AND THE DAMNED, FROM THE SAME THINKPAN THAT STORES THE NAME OF EVERY BONE IN TWO SEPARATE SENTIENT SPECIES AND THAT THINKS A MILLENIA OLD LITERAL SHITHEAP IS COOL?  
AA: ...  
CG: YEAH, SUCK IT.   
AA: god, does coding all day turn trolls into rude grouches? because you're starting to sound like sollux  
CG: FUCK YOU, UNCALLED FOR.  
AA: and stop trying to derail the conversation!  
AA: i am serious here! meenah said we could help each other  
AA: and i for one am looking forwards to talking to our friends again in ways that don't involve going insane on a dig site or falling out of a bunkbed!  
CG: AS AMUSING AS THE IDEA OF YOUR SUFFERING IS, WHAT?  
AA: feferi kept appearing to me, like a real ghost, while i was out on dig  
AA: like, day after day  
AA: apparently she could only sorta push through and was using up a lot of energy, visiting bit by bit?  
AA: meenah on the other hand, just sorta kicked the door in and told me what to do  
CG: THANK THE FUCKING HORRORTERRORS FOR THAT GIRL  
CG: SO OTHER THAN WHAT COULD BE HALLUCINATIONS BIRTHED FROM YOUR BRAINMEATS BOILING IN THE HEAT, HAVE YOU NOTICED ANYTHING ELSE?  
CG: LIKE MAYBE SPEAKING AS OTHER PEOPLE. CITE TIME AND DATES FOR THE RECORD.  
AA: uh, no? not that i've noticed?  
AA: why?  
CG: NOTHING. ANY STRANGE DREAMS? WELL, STRANGER THAN NORMAL.  
AA: i don't really remember my dreams karkat.   
AA: to be honest, most of the time i just plain don't dream  
CG: HUH. ALRIGHT, IF YOU'RE THIS DEADSPEAKER OR WHATEVER, I'M GOING TO NEED YOU TO COME OVER HERE.  
AA: yeah, i was planning on that, but i dunno how i'm going to manage that  
AA: i'm a grad student, not a millionaire  
CG: I'LL BOTHER HARLEY, SEE IF WE DON'T HAVE SOME FUNDING  
CG: I CAN PASS YOU OFF AS A RESEARCH ASSISTANT, WHICH SEEMS TO BE EARTH-SPEAK FOR MENIAL ADMINISTRATIVE DRONE SLAVE.  
AA: preeeetty much.  
AA: thanks karkat!   
CG: FOR THE RECORD, I STILL THINK THIS IS ALL LUNACY AND WE'RE SETTING OURSELVES UP FOR MASSIVE DISAPPOINTMENT.  
CG: NOT THAT THIS WILL BE ANY KIND OF FUCKING SURPRISE TO ME, SINCE I LIVE WITH DISAPPOINTMENT IN MYSELF ON A DAILY BASIS.  
CG: BUT I'D BRACE MYSELF IF I WERE YOU, LEST YOUR FRAGILE PSYCHE BE SHATTERED BY THE SHEER MAGNITUDE OF DISAPPOINTMENT I AM CAPABLE OF.  
AA: oh shut it, we'll do fine

\--

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering apocalypseArisen [AA]

TG: sup megido  
AA: hey dave!  
AA: sorry I've been offline, i've been travelling a lot  
TG: yeah, maryam filled me in on the filthy pale papfest you two got up to in paris  
AA: not too graphic for you, i hope strider?   
TG: shit was pornographic girl  
TG: way too fuckin tender for my manly emotions  
TG: the third time she said sincerely, i had to leave the room i was blushin so hard  
TG: nearly set fire to the ottoman  
TG: what the fuck is an ottoman anyway?  
AA: lol  
TG: also i guess thanks for telling me about it  
TG: not great with this troll romance shit but kanaya said you needed it  
TG: and i know i ain't exactly mr. emotionally supportive   
AA: aw dave, you've been great to me  
AA: you're just... kind of on the other side of the world   
TG: curse you space, my old enemy  
AA: heheh  
AA: but how are you?  
TG: pretty fuckin chill right now   
TG: i still sorta think the whole reconnect with everyone thing is bullshit, but tz had a point in making me apologize to folk  
AA: that's good! how'd things with rose?  
TG: oh you know  
TG: suggestions of homosexuality  
TG: incestual subtext  
TG: signed a record contract  
TG: carefully crafted pretentious psychobabble bouncing off my ice-cold ironic exterior  
TG: the usual  
AA: wait, record contract?  
TG: yeah rose stole my mixing equipment from Austin  
TG: we jammed, her agent's boytoy or something was in the industry, liked our shit  
TG: one month later, the ep's almost ready  
AA: oh my god, that is so cool!  
AA: DJ Knightstylez has his comeback, eh?  
TG: who?  
TG: no idea who this knightstylez dude is  
TG: sounds like a tool  
AA: aww, come on  
AA: i liked those pieces!  
AA: you shouldn't be so hard on your past self  
TG: yeah  
TG: don't wanna be turning into karkles  
TG: but i guess the thing is, im not that person anymore  
TG: and i got you to thank for that a bit  
TG: yeah no, a lot actually  
TG: so yeah, thanks for dragging me out of my hole  
AA: i didn't drag out you, dave  
AA: i just reminded you of everything there was to see and do outside  
AA: so what are you and rose called?  
TG: what else?  
TG: Derse.  
AA: of course 0u0  
AA: and the album?  
TG: ep right now, not a full album yet  
TG: Slick Fingering and Aural Pounding  
AA: oh my god dave  
AA: just... oh my god  
TG: i know, right?  
TG: it has that strider-lalonde touch  
TG: pats you on the knee  
TG: misses and pats your thigh  
TG: stays there for just too long  
TG: completely inappropriate in other words  
AA: youve got that right  
TG: so what up with you  
AA: wellll, i'm apparently talking to dead people again and I need to get to hellmurder island  
TG: cool  
AA: ...?  
AA: youre not going to ask for an explanation or anything  
TG: nah, seems pretty self-explanatory to me  
TG: the again with the talking to dead people says this aint out of the ordinary  
TG: and why not go to hellmurder island  
TG: lovely place, full of hell and uh, murder  
AA: 0_0  
AA: you are seriously not going to ask anything?  
TG: guess im curious why you're ditching your research for this  
AA: well, i'd been going out of my mind with feferi haunting me at the dig  
TG: whoa wait wait  
AA: and then meenah showed up and told me that I could help karkat reconnect us to the dreambubbles  
AA: wait what? 0u0  
TG: how come you didn't mention this when we spoke last time?  
AA: you were going through your own crap, i didnt want to burden you  
TG: yeah ok  
TG: i get the whole needing a troll for the papping or whatever  
TG: well, i don't but you know what i mean  
TG: but look here megido, don't give me this burden crap  
TG: i fucking care about you so it aint gonna be a burden  
TG: you dont wanna tell me for reasons, that's cool  
TG: but burden aint a reason because you ain't a fuckin burden  
AA: ;_;  
TG: annnnnd made her cry  
TG: way to go strider, you're an ass  
AA: you are!  
AA: you really, really are sometimes  
AA: but not for that  
AA: it's sweet, even if it made me feel silly  
AA: thank you dave  
AA: 0u0  
TG: just... you can tell me this stuff, ok?   
AA: ok!  
AA: but anyways, I've got to find a way to hellmurder now on a student budget  
AA: karkat is trying to get funding, but i get the feeling theres not a whole lot of that  
TG: well, guess it's time for strider to pay it forward  
TG: when do you want to leave?  
AA: ...?  
TG: rose dropped a plane ticket in my inbox without asking me   
TG: be happy I'm asking you when you want to leave before booking this shit  
AA: whoa dave, wait  
AA: i can't ask you to do that for you!  
TG: 's cool, that's why you're not asking and im just doing this  
AA: daaaaaaave!  
TG: look, megido, i got more than enough money right now and i wanna show my appreciation for you  
TG: i also wanna see you again, which is why the return city is gonna be Austin  
TG: so it's also selfish, so you can take the ticket without feeling guilty about it  
AA: but i still would!  
TG: that's because you're silly  
TG: said so yourself  
AA: that was completely unrelated  
TG: not on my end it wasn't. aisle or window?  
TG: wait, stupid question, big fuckin amazon like you wants to be able to stretch them legs  
AA: oh my god dave, stop trying to buy my affections!  
TG: don't gotta do that, do i? you done said you loved me  
TG: which is another reason your return goes to Austin  
AA: ... i don't follow  
TG: if i'm gonna return the affections, i'm gonna do it in person  
AA: wow i did not think i could blush this hard  
AA: you mean it?  
TG: mean what? i aint said nothin yet  
TG: anyways, tickets on its way to your inbox, gotta roll  
TG: one last studio session before the EP's out

turntechGodhead [TG] has logged off!

AA: wait!  
AA: oh my god you are such an ass dave strider!  
AA: but thank you  
AA: and i'll look forward to Austin  
AA: 0u0

\--

“So, perchance, did you actually have any sorta of schema for this glorious homecoming of Aradia’s that you have planned?”

“Plan? Sorry Lalonde, you’re the half of this pajama jam gifted with shit like “foresight” and “planning.” I literally just came up with that idea.”

“You are joking.”

“Nope. No jokes here. The jester has left the building. Humour-free zone. A robot has just erected a sign with “No Fun Allowed” printed clearly on it. What a dick.”

Rose gives you a bit a side eye.

“Too much?”

“A little. One could take your less-than-stellar “game” as an indication that you are somewhat nervous, dear brother.”

“Lalonde you are straight up fronting on my good Coolkid name, how dare you. Nerves are-”

Suddenly she’s cut you off, in mid sentence and physically, right before getting into the car the studio’s sent ‘round. Her face stills into a mask - no, an actual earnest expression, which might as well be a mask for a Lalonde - and she cups your cheek. 

“Dave. It’s alright to have no idea what you’re doing. No one does, not in actual romance.”

Then she gives you a light slap with that same hand and slides into the car. After a moment, you slide in as well.

“So for romance, I was thinking lounging on her sofa, rose in my teeth, shirtless…”

\--

Air New Zealand is definitely the best airline and between you and Dave, you may force them to review their alcohol policy. You’re still slightly angry at him for pulling this stunt, but Karkat’s opinion ran more along the lines of “Fuck him, let him blow his first serious money in years on what he wants and the first person to make a crack about wanting Aradia gets punched in their species-appropriate reproductive bits.”

So after a brief stopover and skydive, you set foot on Hellmurder Island, quite simultaneously the most awesomely-named and atrociously-named place to never grace your passport. Terezi unbuckles herself from your massive frame and hops off your back, grinning maniacally. 

“If I ever do that again, it won’t be soon enough.”

“I don’t know, Terezi, after that I may be learning skydiving on my own!”

Then there’s a rough, gravelly attempt at clearing a throat. “If we’re all done congratulating ourselves on not imitating battersplats, I’ll be taking my test subject now.”

Terezi scowls, even as Karkat grabs at your wrist. “But there’s still the tour and-”

“Tour, right! There’s the dorms, there’s the common rooms and cafeteria, and there’s my lab and Terezi’s offices. Everything else is dangerous as the wastes back on Alternia and will probably try to fucking kill you twice as hard.” Karkat points at the structures like he’s stabbing imps.

“Where’s Jade’s lab?”

“Did I _fucking stutter?_ ”

You give a short and uncertain laugh at that. Shortly, he’s dragged you into the darkened confines of the building he and Terezi seem to have laid claim to. You are ushered through a neat waiting area and office by the tiny thundercloud in front of you and plopped unceremoniously down on a stool. Karkat grabs a batch of electrodes with a wild look in his eyes and completely fails to assure you with,

“This won’t hurt a bit.”

Hours later you are completely unharmed and Karkat’s face is screwed up in concentration. You’ve answered dozens of questions and he’s comparing your answers to the readout in front of him. They ranged from the seemingly pertinent (When did you start seeing Feferi?) to the ridiculous (what was your favorite pastry from Derse). You’re not sure what he’s hoping to accomplish here because every time you’ve questioned him, he’s blown you off for another round of questions.

“Well that’s fuck-all useful right now, we’ll have to get more data-”

“Karkat,” you interject, somewhat testily, “I think maybe I’d like to take a break and get settled, if that’s alright with you.”

He looks up at you and then checks his wrist. “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll give the data another look.”

“...not gonna show me to the dorms?”

“What? No, that’s what the fucking interns are for. Grab one of those degenerate lackwits and get them to show you around the place. They’ve got a healthy respect for lunacy that goes on around here, you should be alright with them.”

Never mind that you’re capable of hip-checking a car. Shrugging off Karkat’s introspection, you make for one of the other buildings present. You’re pretty sure it’s the dorms. It’s smaller, and you can’t imagine that this place can support very many students.

\--

Ok, it wasn’t “just one more session” in the studio, but the EP hits the market in a week and its sales do well. Rose and you congratulate each other with a complicated and completely straight-faced handshake in front of Kanaya. Who you then thank with chocolates and wine for getting a deal out of her marketing company to actually get people interested in Derse. By the time you’re ready to leave, you’re fielding requests for interviews (or rather Rose is fielding requests for interviews and you’re taking the piss out of every reporter and news outlet that contacts you. It’s important to establish dynamics like this early). 

You also have to decide on your public “relationship.” Ectosiblings born of an apocalyptic game that destroyed another universe and then turned into gods probably doesn’t gel well with the general public. Eventually you decide to play it all mysterious-like. Let the media and your fans work themselves up into a fervour trying to figure shit out. Not like you two don’t got enough experience playing the borderline-incestuous-pair card to freak people out. Kanaya assures you that the two of you still got game, and coming from someone boinking Rose regularly, you’ll take the compliment.

On the way back to Austin for a check-up (and to get your life really back together), you mess around online, reactivating your Soundcloud account and updating your information. You figure you might want to put up some old pieces or remix a few of them. Drum up some more interest in this collaborative work, maybe snap up some of your old fans. Scrolling through the old files, you catch yourself almost smiling at the ones Aradia liked. You tamp down on that shit though. Gotta maintain a proper public persona. But the headphones still come up and you still listen through them.

Austin’s the same old urban jungle and you nearly hug the air for how good and familiar it feels. But how the fuck do you do that? You get back in contact with your old landlord and give him some good-natured shit for letting Lalonde jack your stuff. Then you pay him back and get some fucking movers to transfer your shit to storage until Aradia gets back. Amazing the kind of service good old greenbacks can get you. Before you’re done and get to take advantage of Aradia’s hospitality, you’ve got an appointment with the quacks. 

The sound of the saw cutting open your cast is like harsh music in your ears, an industrial rev of freedom.

\--

“Alright, we’re getting fucking nowhere with this shit,” Karkat growls and angrily clicks the application closed. 

It’s a couple of days in and you’re hooked into by-now-familiar equipment. Whatever reading Karkat’s taking aren't telling him anything useful and his frustration… would be evident on anyone who wasn't and grump twenty-four hours a day anyways.

“I figure the next step is to get you into the same mindset as you were in before. Sorry, but maybe it takes stress or dehydration or some shit to put your thinkpan in the right mode.”

“Except the hallucinations were what was making me stressed and we make damn sure we’re not dehydrated on the digs.”

“Goddammit.” Karkat gnaws at his lip, a torn and scarred thing that comes with being in a concupiscent relationship with Terezi Pyrope. If you were Rose, you might theorize that this dermatophagic habit could point to a reliance on the comfort of a relationship, but you just think it’s kind of cute.

“Alright, we’re going to move to taking readings in your sleep. Dreambubbles don’t seem to touch this universe, but maybe your dreaming mind can give us some hints.”

“Karkat… I told you before. I… don’t really dream anymore.”

“Bullshit. Everyone dreams. You just don’t remember anything when you wake up.”

“No, I mean… ugh. Most of the time when I dream, it’s just blank white space. It’s really disturbing. Not to mention boring.”

“Great! Abnormalities are what we’re looking for.” He spins back to the PC and starts typing out some notes. “Uh, no offense or anything.”

You snort. “So am I gonna have to sleep in here?”

“Unless you feel like hauling all this shit up to your room,” he replies, gesturing to the assorted equipment. You sigh and prepare to move your mattress. Maybe you can con the interns into helping you move the bed. Assuming you haven’t scared the lot of them by helping Jade carry a wild clawbeast into her lab. By which you mean strolling around with a sedated clawbeast casually slung over your shoulder. It’s not that the bed would be _heavy_ it’s just damned awkward to move.

You’re pretty sure that “furniture re-arranging” is in every intern’s contract the world over anyways. And compared the other crap that gets thrown at them on Hellmurder Island, this should be cake for them.

\--

It hits you once you hobble into Aradia’s place on your totally swag medical cane that it is depressingly, disturbingly empty. The whole place is grey, where it isn’t white. The couch is a washed out grey, the coffee table is a dull steel grey, the kitchen table is painted a boring white. You are a droplet of red in an otherwise sterile environment. You shiver. The _hospital_ didn’t feel this clinical. You didn't pick up on it the last time you were in here because you were either drunk off your ass, engaged in heavy petting with an ashen bombshell or so hungover your headache could have cracked concrete.

Before crashing for the day, you toss your crap out of your suitcase. Literally. It gets haphazardly slung around the apartment in an effort to make the place seem lived-in and not some abandoned nuke bunker from the fifties. It helps, some.

The bedroom is the only place with any colour, with deep, rust red sheets and old wooden closet. You successfully resist the urge to rummage and congratulate yourself on not being a dick for once. 

Sleep comes incredibly easily, considering the sheer amount of shit you’ve gotten done this past day. You fade, wishing the wifi was on here because you wanted to message Aradia, thank her and all that. You fade, and are welcomed by heat and the tick- _ **tock**_ of clockwork.

\--

Your nights are filled with the same bland white emptiness that eats at your spirit and your days are spent getting away from Karkat and his incessant questions and yammerings-on. You’re beginning to think that coming here was a mistake. Well, you’re glad that Karkat seems to have gotten some kind of useful data from your dull dreaming, but neither you or he have any idea what it points to. Even Jade gets sucked in, arguing with Karkat about about abnormal brain-patterns and leaving the biology to people who understand it.

“Yeah, well, some of us can’t be fucking geniuses and have to make up for it with sleepless nights and hard data!”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help, dumbass! I swear to god, sometimes you are so caught up in this blackrom that you’re blind to the options in front of you!”

“You know, what? You’re right! I will get help! I will fucking call up half a dozen somnologists, because even though they might not be _geniuses_ they won’t stick their noses where they don’t belong!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Naturally, Karkat spent that night with Jade.

You, on the other hand, spent you night with-

\--

You’ve spent the last several days reading up on lucid dreaming in a shitty student cafe down the road, really working at that ironic hipster cred. And every night you’ve tried to steer yourself into finding her again. Not like you ain't got time on your hands, you may as well put it to good use. LOHAC isn’t as you remember it. There’s no nakkodiles and none of the terrain is familiar. Other than being a lava-filled industrial wasteland. But you do keep coming back to the obsidian island with the ashen shores, with the labyrinthine canyons. And it’s during your wanderings through those when you finally catch her.

At the end of one of the canyons, there’s an incline of sharply-hewn stairs, leading up to what looks like a massive, stilled brass clock. It’s hella stylized, like one of those little cuckoo clocks and it doesn’t look like anything that comes from LOHAC. You think you might have seen something like it before, but can’t put your finger on where or when.

But more importantly, there’s a figure in red underneath it, with slowly beating butterfly wings. You lock down your thoughts and try to keep a loose hand on this dream. You’re not going to force it, but you’re also not going to wake up at the worst moment again. You hope.

Your approach is an impossibly slow, languid thing and you feel like you’re moving through molasses. _I wonder if this is how it feels to other folks when I fuck with time._ She’s turning by the time you’re up the stairs and when you catch a glimpse of her face, and she of yours, the world seems to snap back into proper time. Dream reality sharpens into high-definition.

“Yo, let’s try this again. What up, ‘Radia?”

“Dave!” she leaps at you for a hug and you catch her easily, despite the massive size difference. The lightly-flapping wings help, you’re sure. “I’ve been looking for other people in the bubbles for so long! I’m so glad to see you!”

“Dream bubbles eh? You and Karkat still working at tha-” You cut yourself off when she withdraws and you see her eyes. The soul-blank white of the dead. “Holy shit. Why the fuck are you dreaming you’re dead?”

“I’m not dreaming, silly, you are! I’m dead! Now, what’s this about me and Karkat working on something?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next - Finale: 
> 
> The Corpse Party of Our Dreams


	21. The Corpse Party of our dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are my friend  
> at our end, at our end

The two of you are sat at the base of the brass clock as you try to explain things to her. You, for one, are fucking ecstatic that you don’t sweat in LOHAC because this is hard shit, man. You never really paid attention to the mechanics of dreambubbles and just fucked around popping ebubbles around. Heh. Good, wasted times. 

So despite this glaring disadvantage, you’re still giving it a go. You’re not sure how to go about it, so you’re getting her side of the story first.

“...and then when you finally killed him, there was this flash of light… and that’s it. That’s all I remember, before waking up in the dreambubbles. I guess I just thought there was some cataclysmic explosion and I got caught up in it?” Aradia bites her lip, and even though you don’t think this is _your_ Megido (what does that even mean, man?) it pulls at your heart.

“But now you say that I survived, that we all survived… I don’t really know why I’d be here!” The dead-gleaming eyes look at you, and you feel a shiver of disconcernment and a pang of sympathy. There aren’t tears in her eyes, but you’re certain there should be.

“Yeah, iunno. Back home, you’re doin’ fine, got a career in archaeology, and now you’re helpin’ Karkles try to connect back up to the dreambubbles. Maybe if you figure that out there, that’ll fix this? Or maybe we can figure something out in here, which’ll help fix that?”

“You think so?”

“No idea. But now that I found you in here, it ain’t like I’m just gonna disappear.”

You’re suddenly bowled over by the troll, who is now gripped around your sides like a vice. This version of Aradia is smaller, back from when you first won the game, but she’s still a troll and that means she’s damn strong. Ow.

“Yo, I get it, everyone wants a piece of this fine human ass, but goddamn Megido, I don’t wanna join you in this corpse party.”

“Huh?” Big, dead eyes look up at you.

“You’re fuckin’ crushin’ me here, Aradia.”

“Oh! Sorry!” She lets go. Voice quavering, she continues, “It’s just… you’re the first person I’ve seen here and it’s been so long and I’ve been so _lonely_ and I was worried you were going to go and now you’re not and I’m… I’m just so happy!”

Awkwardly, you pat her head. Awkwardly, because showing affection is still a new thing for you and even though technically you and Aradia are a thing, this Megido looks like she’s sixteen years old. Kinda creepy there, Strider.

 

“Yeah, uh, no worries, I guess.”

There’s a silence as she gets herself together and scoots a little away from you. You are simultaneously relieved and disappointed, cementing your shit-ass opinion of yourself once more. All’s well in LOHAC.

“Do you think, um,” she twiddles her thumbs. Like, no shit. Twiddles her thumbs. “Do you think you could tell me what I’ve been up to?”

“Sure thing. Think that’ll help?”

“Maybe it’ll jog some kind of shared memory? I don’t know, I’ve never heard of this kind of disconnect.”

“Well, I wasn’t there for most of it, to be fair, but you’ve sort of caught me up?”

“Huh? What do you mean, you weren’t there for most of it?”

“Well, we kind of went our separate ways after creating the new world. Well, just me, I guess,” you evade, clumsily.

“Oh, start there, start there! How did that go?” 

Relieved that you get to avoid that particular drama (for now), you start recounting the story of post-SBURB life to the troll hanging on to your every word.

\--

Karkat Vantas had learned to be a patient troll. It was necessary in science and in programming. And especially in developing theoretical programming languages designed to create a protocol for connecting to servers in a universe that may or may not exist any longer. In his desperate quest, he’d dabbled in all sorts of disciplines and at this point probably had a wider base of knowledge than Harley. It was a hard-won achievement, earned over the course of thousands of sleepless nights, exhausting days and near-hallucinogenic eureka moments. Being awake about thirty percent more than your average sentient being taught a certain amount of patience.

But he’d never learned to get over the sheer boredom of waiting for results. Particularly when there was nothing else to occupy his mind. He couldn’t be bothered with any other project, especially when Aradia’s visitations/hallucinations/psychoses were so promising. And fuck the idea of sleep. He’d lay down beside Terezi and promptly be tossing and turning, earning him a cold, sharp kick to the side and quite probably out of the goddamned bed.

So he sat in his lab, next to a sleeping Aradia and muttered into the DS at his pokemon. It technically counted as boredom because holy shit the game was repetitive, but it was engrossing and addictive enough to keep him occupied while waiting for something to happen. 

And then the scratching started. His head came up. A second needle started scratching on the sheets, transcribing a second pattern. A DS was tossed over a shoulder. 

\--

“Annnnnnd now you’re on Hellmurder Island with Karkat and them, trying to figure out this dreambubble stuff,” you say, finally coming to the end of your tale. 

“Wow… more than a decade. I knew it had been a while, but time stopped meaning a whole lot after a while here.”

“Lady, time never meant a whole lot to us.”

A giggle, one that sounded almost surprised at itself. “I guess. But it was like… here, what’s a meter?”

“Uh, a measurement?”

“Right, but a measurement of what?”

“Distance?”

“Yeah! And can you demonstrate that?”

“Sure,” you say, and hold out your arms what you think a meter would be.

“Right, and you could do the same for all the measures of space. You can point to them, and visualize them and encompass them. Even air, even nothingness!” Her arms spread so wide a hand almost takes you in the face. You dodge, but she doesn’t notice, her face looking up at the empty darkness of the Medium, her wings beating, quivering with excitement.

“Now, what’s a second?”

“...”

“Come on, Dave! Play along!”

“Alright, I guess. It’s also a measurement. Of time. And it’s this long,” you snap your fingers and a second later, snap them again.

“Right. But are you actually demonstrating what time is by the physical action, by the impact of skin on skin, by the passage of sound from your palm to our ears?”

You’re not sure what she’s getting at. Time’s always been simple to you, ever since SBURB and possibly before. It just was and you’ve never really given it a whole lot of thought. She continues,

“When you’re snapping your fingers, counting the passing of hours, when you’re demonstrating the passage of time, what goes in there?” She staring intently at you, like the answer is in your head and she’s willing it into being. Yeah, good luck with that, Megido.

“Huh?”

“Any space can be filled, or is already filled. Things _exist_ in there. What exists in time, Dave?”

You stare at her, confused. You’re not following and it’s pretty obvious.

“Happenings. Actions. Space holds things, time holds actions. The two are wrapped around each other and can’t be parted, but they are separate things.” She gesticulates, trying to show a ball of stuff that wraps in on itself with her fingers and succeeding pretty well on account of you getting that. “Space measures things, Time measures… life.

“And what’s life without people to share it?” 

She stills, and you stare speechless at the dead girl, all alone, cut off in a world of her own.

\--

Karkat quickly determined that there was a second consciousness in Aradia’s dreaming mind. His excitement mounted as he tried to figure out how to trace it. This probably would have been a good thing to have had sorted out _before_ running the experiment, but fuck it, they didn’t even know they’d get this far.

His eyes darted across the mess of his lab, looking for something that would be of use in this situation and failing. He’d never had to run dream analysis before, and what equipment he’d assembled came from the advice of somnologists not… psychic-tracker people, if the humans even had those. He was pretty sure they didn’t. Finally, his eyes landed on the disused, red rotary phone hanging by the door.

Groaning inwardly, but knowing there wasn’t a whole lot left to him here, he stormed over and picked up the receiver. The line only went one place.

“Harley!” he barked. “I need a fucking consult.”

\--

While you’re trying to digest the philosophical crap Aradia dropped in your lap, her head snaps up and around, her hair nearly taking you in the face. You dodge, but she doesn’t notice because,

“Did you hear that?! I sounded like Kar-!” 

And she was gone.

What the fuck.

\--

“What the fuuu-” you wake up, bolting upright. You look from side to side, confirming you’re still in Karkat’s lab. He’s at a phone and looking at you with a look of shock and self-loathing.

“I am a fucking toolbag. Yes, thank you Harley, I know you think so too, but- no that’s- no, I mean Aradia just woke up- FOR FUCKING OUT LOUD JUST GET DOWN HERE.”

And he slammed the phone down.

“Karkat… what? I heard you…?”

“Heard me wake you up during the best readings we’ve gotten yet, because I am the world’s literal worst scientist who blows his load all over his cultures and-”

“Ew. Just, ew! Don’t ever use that comparison again, Karkat, especially when I’m part of the experiment!”

“...yeah ok, that was a poor choice of words.”

“What’s Karkat fucking up now?” Jade said as she brushed past Karkat and into the room. The troll nearly leapt a foot into the air at her sudden appearance and growled at the human. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“I was getting another consciousness in my readings of Aradia’s dreamspace and when I went to track it, I realized I had no fucking equipment for it, which is why I dredged the depths of my soul for the base humility necessary to stoop to the level of asking for your degenerate, manic help, Harley.”

“Well, it’s a credit to your glacial self-improvement that you can finally admit your obvious failings and ask for help from your superiors-”

“GUYS. Either get a room or start acting fucking professionally in front of your test subject!” you burst out, tiring of their puerile kismesissitude.

“...not my test subject,” muttered Jade under her breath as her and Karkat pointedly avoided making eye-contact with you.

“WHAT was that, Dr. Harley?”

“...Nothing, Aradia.”

“Good. Now, would Dr. Vantas please explain further.”

“What’s there to explain! That’s it! I needed a means to track that second consciousness signature and I didn’t have it! I fucked up! Now, if _Doctor_ Harley could magnanimously consent to brainstorming equipment capable of the feat, we could get somewhere!”

“Oh I think my _magnanimity_ could extend that far if _Doctor_ and I use the term _loosely_ Vantas, hang on, someone’s calling me…”

Jade pulls an absolute brick of a phone from her pocket, a distorted thing that looked like a comical, retro-3D version of a smartphone and answers it.

\--

“Yeah, Jade? Put Karkat on.” You sat on the edge of you- Aradia’s bed and running your hand through your hair as you prepare to rack up serious long-distance minutes. Thankfully, this room doesn’t have a direct line on the sun at the moment, and you pulled the curtains as soon as you woke up. Shit is way too bright for a man trying to help out with someone else’s existential crisis.

The gravelly, worn-out voice of Karkat Vantas graces your cell’s earpiece and says, “What the fuck do you want, Strider.”

“Did you wake Aradia up?”

“SERIOUSLY?! WHICH ONE OF YOU ASSHOLES TOLD HIM?! AM I IN ALL BULGE-WRINGING SERIOUSNESS GOING TO BE NAGGED BY THE MULTIVERSE’S MOST MAGNIFICENT DOUCHENOZZLE FOR MY OWN ADMITTED FUCK UP?! HAVE I NOT-”

“Holy shit dude, calm your tits, no one told me.”

“THEN HOW THE FUCK DID YOU KN- oh.”

“I was in the fucking dream with her and was making something resembling progress before you presumably got your foghorn on and woke her up. So point of order one: fuck you. And point of order two: put Aradia on.”

There’s some grumbling from the other side of the phone and then Aradia’s voice, deeper and more worn than the tones from your dream, fills your ear.

“Dave?”

“So guess whose ghost I just met in dreambubbistan?”

“Um… I don’t know?”

“Well, don’t take this too hard, but yours.”

“What.”

“Yup. No lie.”

“What the fuck, Dave.”

“My words exactly. Well, without the Dave. I mean, I talk to myself all the goddamn time, but I don’t call myself Dave. Much.”

“You saw my… ghost?”

“I saw and interacted with a version of you that does not remember anything after dropping the big bad in SBURB and claimed to have died. Creepy-ass blank eyes and all.”

“What the hell? And why are you calling it a dreambubble?”

“Hey, I’m going by what ghost-you was callin’ it.”

“But that makes no- oh for god’s sake Karka- oh fine, here.”

“You egregious shitspawn of a human being, stay the hell out of my experiments, things more important than your goddamn painfully obvious white knight complex are at stake here.”

“Like connecting to the dreambubbles?”

“Exactly. So glad your mortally slow thought process kept up, now-”

“Karkat, right now there’s only one fucking dreambubble we can access and it’s either in Aradia’s head or she’s the only one that can access it. Now, there’s a lonely fucking version of her that’s stuck in there who thinks she died when Lord English got pop-pop dropped. Now maybe if we can sort that shit out, maybe one of the Aradias can go find the other dreambubbles.”

“That is the most hair-brained scheme I’ve ever had the misfortune to have had jammed through my aural sphincters.”

“Don’t ever say sphincters again. Also, you got a better idea?”

“No. Also, fuck you.” There’s a silence while you assume Aradia takes the phone back.

“Dave?”

“Yo.”

“You’re sure that version of me was dead?”

“Well, she sure as hell seemed to think so. Went on about being alone, not having seen anyone, all that jive that comes with walking off the mortal coil.”

“But that makes no sense. If I- if she died when we defeated Lord English, she would have gone to the old dreambubbles, not be caught up in one in this world!”

“Huh, yeah. Makes sense.”

“So… here’s what I’m thinking. Uh guys?” her voice grows slightly distant as she addresses the others in the room. “Mind giving me and Dave some privacy? ...no, we won’t do anything to your phone Jade. ...no we won’t do anything without your observation, Karkat.”

“Hey, whoa, Vantas is not invited to sexytimes if that’s what’s happening up in here. Is that what’s happening up in here?”

“Dave!” You can almost hear her blush. “No, I just wasn’t really comfortable sharing with them around.”

“O...k…”

“So, when we started meeting up and hanging out I started… well, I don’t know if I’d call it dreaming. But before it was all just whiteness. With you… it seemed like there was something, but I can’t remember any of it.”

“Gonna go ahead and repeat myself, o...k…?”

“Shush you, it’s a good thing. I felt warm and l-loved instead of cold and lonely when I went to bed. But that’s just background. The point is… something changed when we met up. And if this girl exists around LOHAC, which conceivably I could be dreaming about if we consider I would naturally associate it with you…”

“She could be your dreamself,” you say, clueing in finally.

“Right. You see, when someone first arrives in a dreambubble, they usually don’t know that they’re dead. They need to arrive at the realization themselves, remember it. Though they can be helped along. So I’m thinking, maybe the same can happen to a dreamself. She thinks she’s dead, but can be reminded she’s actually alive, actually me.”

“Gotcha.” you say, but something’s nagging at you. “Aradia… you got any idea why your dreamself would think she’s dead?”

“Um,” the voice on the other end is very small, all of a sudden. “Well, not really. But… maybe it has to do with dreams, like goals-dreams. There’s some overlap there, especially in imaginative senses. When we defeated Lord English… well, that was it for me. Nothing more to do, I did what I was put here for! I was done with death… and the voices of the dead. Maybe I just… subconsciously shut out dreams, and the dead.”

“Uh-huh.” you say eloquently. So eloquent.

“Oh hush, I know it’s silly.”

“It ain’t silly. And I can sort of get it. Especially that bit about done with death.”

“Yeah. And I think that’s why…”

“Yeah?”

“I think that’s why you can remind her that she’s alive. Because you reminded me.”

\--

You leave the lab and hand Jade her phone back. For the first time, you notice how bedraggled she looks, and how little Karkat does by comparison. Well, he always looks a bit bedraggled. It’s part of his (questionable) charm.

“So?” he asks, grumpily. 

“So it’s too early in the day for him to go back to bed, so he’s going to work his ass off to crash as soon as possible and we’re gonna try during the afternoon here.”

Karkat runs his hands past his horns and through his hair, grumbling, “Well, that gives us some time to work out some way of determining consciousness patterns.”

Jade groans, “It’s three in the morning Karkat! Some of us actually _like_ to sleep?”

“As much as I agree you need your beauty sleep,” Jade’s punch was fast and vicious, catching the troll just off his shoulder. “Could you get over yourself a while to help me re-establish contact with the rest of my race?”

“Ugh, fiiiiiine. What about you, Aradia?”

“Well, I’m pretty tired, but I’m going to stay up until we get to the experiment. I figure it can only help if I fall asleep really quick, right?”

Karkat gives an affirmative grunt and Jade gives you a thumbs-up. You continue, “I kinda feel useless, though, you’re going to be working all night on stuff and I’m just going to be trying to stay awake…”

“Well, you can make yourself useful by doing some cooking at least. There’s a recipe for an energy shake I make somewhere in the kitchen. I don’t need it, but Harley probably will pretty soon.”

Jade’s face screws up like she’s about to protest, but she thinks better of it.

“Also, better make it in the main kitchens, don’t want to wake Terezi up.”

“Righto, one shake, coming right up! Anything else?”

“Something to eat, maybe? Fuck, I don’t know, I don’t want to be putting you to work like a servant or some shit.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t work too hard,” you tease him. Then with a wave, you take your leave, stopping by the kitchen to rummage for the recipe.

Out in the cool night air of Hellmurder Island, you wake a bit more. The chill sea breeze is good for that, and you have to move your ass to stay warm, which gets your blood flowing, waking you even more. By the time you get to the kitchens in the main complex, you’re decently alert. The shake calls for some pretty exotic ingredients, but everything’s absurdly well labelled in the kitchen, so that’s little problem. For food, you figure breakfast is a good meal all of the time, so you make up some lazy breakfast burritos. Two, then one for yourself because the smell of food definitely got your hunger up.

You deliver the food and have to giggle a bit at how similarly Jade and Karkat snarf down their food. They both glare at you, then at each other, then at the mess on each other’s faces. They are so adorably black, you almost want a kismesis of your own. 

It’s warm in the lab so you excuse yourself to go do some exploring, which you figure should occupy yourself for long enough.

\--

Moving stuff around Austin the whole day is, no shit, enough to tire you out for several days. A lot of it is getting rid of crappy shit that you owned that you can afford better versions of now, but still, dumping stuff is hard work. You power through though, until the sun hits the horizon and sinks below. After a lovely dinner of greasy fries and a burger the size of your fucking head, you’re feeling a food coma come on.

Washed hands and a phone call later, you’re sprawled across Aradia’s bed.

\--

It’s mid-afternoon when the call comes in, and you’ve definitely been up long enough to pass out immediately, but there’s some back-and-forth on the phone, some insults thrown between Dave and Karkat and a Jade that just throws up her hands and goes to pass out in Terezi’s office with instructions to only wake her if something blows up.

“Wouldn’t that wake you up anyways?”

“No.” say Jade and Karkat, simultaneously.

“Are we gonna do this shit, or is it just gonna be family hour all night long?” asks Dave

\--

LOHAC resolves around around you in the manner of dreams, like falling into a liquid that’s suddenly air and solid rock around you. You’re at the top of the canyon formation, looking down at the massive brass cuckoo clock. You’re not sure what else to do, so you float on down to it, taking a seat at the foot of it, like you did last night.

And then there’s something that’s not a pop, but definitely feels like it and Aradia’s dreamself is beside you.

“Oh! Dave! What happened? Did you hear that? It sounded like Karkat’s voice!”

“Yeah, about that… you popped out of the dreambubble because Karkat was his usual quiet self and woke Ara- your, uh, awakeself up.”

“My… awakeself?”

“Yeah, look, we’ve got this theory. You’re like a dreaming dead that doesn’t know your dead… but instead you’re a dreamself that doesn’t know you’re alive.”

“That… that would be nice if it were true. But you’d think after a _decade_ I’d come to that realization on my own.”

“Well, here’s the the thing… it probably wasn’t a decade.”

“What?”

“Check it, did you have any idea how long it had been since you’d been here before I fed you the ten years line?”

“...huh. No, not really.”

“And ain’t that strange for a Time player?”

The start she gives almost scares you yourself. “Oh wow! I never thought of that. But wait, why wouldn’t I be able to tell? Those Time gifts still work, even in dreams.”

“No idea.”

“None?”

“Nope. Nada. Zip. Just got told by my brain that these are not the ideas I’m looking for. There are no clues in Tudor Mansion and yeah that one was reaching, fuck it.”

She giggles a bit. It’s higher than your Aradia’s, but still unmistakably hers. 

“So how long do you think it’s been for me then?”

“I’d ballpark it around a year or so. That’s when Aradia and I, um, uh, fuck.” You kinda skipped over the part where the two of you were a thing.

“When you and my dreamself…?”

“Uh, met up, started hanging out.” Goddamn, shades are tight. You can stare her right in the eyes, or at least look like it, while avoiding her gaze.

“Why would that make Aradia dream? And why’d it take that long for you two to hang out?”

“Well, uh, I wasn’t exactly in a good place for the past fucking ever for a bunch of reasons Aradia’s helping me deal with, and apparently I’ve been helping her too with some issues, which is why maybe you’re dreaming of LOHAC instead of wherever the hell was your planet and yeah, wow, Operation Do Not Overshare, in jeopardy. I’ll take Shut the Hell Up Now Strider for 200, Alex.”

“Wow, I guess we must have gotten pretty close if that’s the case.” You look away and that was probably a mistake, because now she can see your eyes, but you wanted to try hide the blush.

Her hands shoot up suddenly and cover her mouth. “Oh my god! Oh my god, that close? How close exactly?!”

“Real fucking close, alright, mini-Megido? Annnd, gawd, the train has just pulled into Awkward Station in the town of Embarrassment. Jesus, I was trying to avoid this.”

“Oh come on, that’s nothing to be embarrassed about!”

“You’re a kid version of the woman I’m getting it on with, you better fucking believe that’s embarrassing, like holy shit wow,” you say burying your head in your hands. “It’s like the most fucked up version of The Time Traveller’s Wife actually no wait, not that fucked up, I take it back.”

She giggles again, giving up on hiding her own blushing. “Well, I guess that makes sense why you’re the one I finally got to meet, even if we weren’t so close before. And The Time Traveller’s Wife sounds like a cool book.”

“It’s uh. Well. It’s dark. If you wanna forget about the hell that is Time, it’s not a good book to do it with.”

“No, I don’t think I’d want to forget any of it,” she says, and you glance at her in surprise. She’s looking up at the emptiness of the Medium, or at least this shitty dream version of it. “A lot of bad things happened and I died a whole lot, but it was necessary for us to win. And even if _I_ didn’t quite get the chance to see the world we made, a version of me did.”

Your heart feels like it should be hammering in your chest, but it’s going just like clockwork. You don’t know why, but you find yourself reaching out a hand towards her. “Come on then.”

“Huh?” She stares at you, blank dead eyes wide and, you think, maybe a little hopeful.

“Let’s go see the world we made. Enough lyin’ around here. You already done decided to believe me about being a dreamself, time to believe yourself to be one.”

Her eyes widen, and you think you can almost see them flicker gold and garnet. She raises a hand, reaches out and as your breath quickens, takes your hand. The hand is smaller than you’re used to, but its warm, and presses itself to your skin with eagerness and ease. She squeezes and you can feel your pulse and on the next beat-

_**tick** _

goes the massive brass clock behind the pair of you and

_**tock** _

you feel her pulse beat in time to yours.

\--

“Holy fuck!” whispers Karkat as the consciousness feeds go haywire, dozens, hundreds of new colours springing into existence, hundreds of new minds registering. He spins around on his chair and flips on the dimensional tracker he and Jade hacked together and connected to his already jury-rigged EEG. He watches as data he barely understands starts running past on the monitor, but it’s _data_ and he can _use_ this.

“Fuck YES!” he whispers hoarsely as he shoots up straight, his arms raised triumphantly.

He runs into Terezi’s office and leaps onto the couch, onto Jade and _screams_ into her hair, into the couch pillow she’s using, right by her ear. As she jerks awake, Terezi just shakes her head and goes back to her reading.

\--

 

The empty medium above explodes into to colours, dreambubbles flaring into existence like space ships exiting hyperspace, little worlds of dream and afterlife pushing their way into this plane. They blur and merge together as they rotate and orbit indefinable points and the whole mess is like watching a supernova come into being above your heads. 

You look down at Dave, who’s still staring up at the miraculous rainbow coming into being above the two of you. You pull his hand up to your lips and kiss it, making him jump. But when he sees you in all your filled out age, he cracks a bit of a smile.

“Hey.” you say. “You did it. She’s here now, within me.”

“Nah, all I did was give her the means to choose for herself. But that’s cool. Was kinda worried she’d be all erased and shit.”

“No, she’s just… a part of me now.”

“Cool.” He looks up and around again. “So, you’re dreaming.”

“Yep! Pretty good dream too,” you say as you sidle up to him, wrapping an arm around his slim form.

“Anything you’ve been dreaming of doing?” he waggles his eyebrows, ridiculously. It’s like a bushier version of Rose’s infuriating waggle, but on him, it just makes you giggle. You press into him, running a hand over his chest and whisper in his ear.

“A few things. You up for it, Strider?”

\--

You wake up, hours later, with the most painful, insistent erection ever. Oh, she’s gonna pay for that.

\--

You wake up, probably hours later, to find Karkat and Jade talking in hurried, hushed tones in a corner of the lab, pointing at a monitor while Karkat hammers out something on a keyboard. 

“So, get anything useful?” you ask, half-assuming you already know the answer. You’re not prepared for Karkat giving a whoop, leaping from his chair and more or less directly into a hug, clasping you with all limbs. Jade holds her head with a flicker of annoyance.

“He’s been like this the entire time.”

You manage to bemusedly pry Karkat off you. “So, that’s a yes, then?”

“Hells fucking yes! Shit all those fucking programs I wrote now _work_ more or less and they just need some tweaking, but that’s going so fast because I have fucking _Sollux_ fixing my shit and occasionally running that erratic piece of malfunctioning machinery that he laughingly calls a mouth saying that he can’t believe that I can actually fucking code now and we have Trollian up and running already and holy fuck I am almost excited to go to sleep because I’ll be able to see them and-”

“Good god, Karkat, breathe!” growls Jade as she grabs him by the collar and drags him back to his seat in front of the computer. “Now fucking say good-bye to Sollux already. Someone’s fun in dreamland has gotten to me and I need tucking in.”

She winks at you and wriggles her nose, a reminder of senses far beyond a human or a troll. You flush and flee the room, looking to get a cold shower.

\--

You thought the dead Daves would be the worst of it. Younger versions of yourself who didn’t get the chance to win, that had to die to move the game forward. Complete bullshit that you got to get out, skipping your doomed timeline and being the only fucking one to survive. You thought there would be some jealousy, but hey, they’re you. You were worried about dreaming and running in to them and you seriously considered pulling a Karkat and avoiding sleep for as long as possible.

But fuck that, you’re moving forward, so you crashed as normal. And when you dreamed and your bubble merged with another Dave’s, all that passed between you was a lazy “Sup” of a nod and a casual bro-fist. Trust yourself to play it cool.

\--  
The flight back to Texas is split between revising your thesis and chatting to old friends on Trollian. It’s a wonderfully awkward, heartwarming, and giddy experience, click-clacking away at the keys while you catch up with everyone. There was a period of silence from everyone, until a message from Meenah broke the dam

fuckin fin-ally

The colours of the haemospectrum scrolling past your screen is a good distraction from the thesis, but you still want to get as much done before landing in Austin, because, well, you don’t think you’re going to get much done there for obvious reasons.

Landing and customs is a pain in the ass, particularly since most people can’t believe “Hellmurder Island” is a place that exists. But soon enough, your ass is in a cab, headed back to your apartment. The closer you get, winding and weaving through Austin traffic, the harder your heart beats, and the clearer the impression of a steadily ticking clock becomes. You breath deep, trying to calm yourself, but all you manage to do is keep your heart beating in time to the clock. The thudding in your chest is incredible.

When you get to your apartment, you can’t help but speed up the stairs, taking them two, three at a time, letting your massive legs eat up the distance. Your hand is shaking in time with the beating of your heart as you try to get your key into the lock. When you finally manage it and wrench open the door, the pounding in your chest and the ticking in your ears suddenly stops. What’s before you isn’t your plain white, empty apartment. For full, terrifying moments you think you’ve been evicted, that this isn’t your place anymore. In the manner of wildly in-love, disbelieving fools, your brain is leaping to conclusions that can’t be true.

You recognize the sofa at the same time a _**tock**_ echoes through your skull and a voice runs smoothly through your ears.

“Sup, ‘Radia.”

You spin around and physically yank him into the room, into your arms. He doesn’t put up much of a struggle, only shifting to toss a cardboard box past you, into the room. You hold him tightly to you, trying to quell the pounding in your chest by breathing in his scent. From between your breasts, his muffled voice manages,

“Yeah, missed you too, girl” and the thrum it sends up and down your spine is _perfectly delicious_. He pushes off you gently to shut the door. In the same movement he removes his shades and oh damn, you’re in trouble now. Red-hot eyes push you back as he advances on you, until your legs catch on the side of the couch and you fall back onto it. But he’s there, in mid-air, as time slows around the two of you and he’s catching you, shifting underneath you, so you land on him, on the couch.

Your hair cascades down to veil both of you from the world around you, and even as the pounding in your chest reaches a new height you lean down and kiss him. With a delicious twinge in your chest, the pounding slows, still, sinks with the pulse you can feel in his lips.

In your home, together, you whisper against his mouth,

“Welcome home.”

\--

The lights are out, and Austin is dark.

_**tick** _

Traffic can be heard outside the window of the apartment, but neither of you care, because your worlds are reduced to the rise and fall of one another’s chests, the universe in each other’s eyes.

Inhale.

_**tock** _

The pulse of your lives beats in tandem, each taking the other and making sense of it. There is no chaos, nor any order. There is only the rhythm of two hearts having found one another.

Exhale.

Be at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it ends, two years, to the day. 
> 
> Wow.
> 
> I, uh. Wow. I did not think this day would actually ever come. I mean, I promised myself it would, but then, I promise myself a lot of things that I'm incapable of doing.
> 
> So then. Thank you for reading this, my single most cohesive attempt at writing fanfiction. Under this name. I look back at the early writing and some of the middle (and let's be real here, some at the end) and wince at the quality. But this wasn't about perfection, about vicious, cutting revisions. It was telling a single, cogent story, something I had not done in... well, nearly a decade. And for better or worse, I managed it.
> 
> Thank you for your time, your well wishes, your delicious, delicious attention and tears. 
> 
> AND CAN I GET A FUCKING HOLLA FOR NOT DROPPING THE CHEESE WITH "We've got time on our side" ?!?!?!


End file.
